Back To Hell
by miss-suga13
Summary: Ryan contemplates his choice to go back to Chino, and faces the consequences of leaving the Cohens. PG13 for language in later chapters and just to be sure.
1. Damsel in Distress

Just a little something that I thought of while babysitting. This story takes place immediately after the finale, and every chapter will end in a flashback to when Ryan was little. Just to let you know, I don't own the O.C., so don't sue. Pretty please. Enjoy.

**Back to Hell:** Ryan contemplates his choice to leave, and faces the consequences of leaving the Cohens.

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Ryan peered out of Theresa's car, willing himself not to cry. He was Ryan Atwood. Boys like him did not cry. Especially not in front of girls.

Especially not in front of girls like Theresa.

He had the strange feeling that she would laugh at him if he cried, but as he glanced into her brown eyes, he realized that she would never laugh at him. Not after all that they'd been through together.

Ryan knew the baby wasn't his. He could feel it in his gut and in the bottom of his heart. He could feel it in the little nook of his brain that reasoned mathematically and calculated the odds.

He wasn't stupid. That was the one thing he wasn't. They had had sex once in the past year, and even though they hadn't used protection, the chances were slim.

Eddie and her must have done it hundreds of times. Ryan snorted involuntarily. Ok, so maybe he was exaggerating, but they sure as hell must have done it more times than he and Theresa did.

That said, the fact that the baby probably wasn't his didn't mean anything to him. No matter what Marissa whispered to him when they were trying to sleep, it didn't matter.

Marissa said that he couldn't go with her. She said Theresa could go back to Eddie. She said Eddie wasn't a bad person. She said he must have been angry. He must have been drunk. Did Ryan care?

Hell no.

He had been prey to the end of a fist too many times to excuse any old bastard. When he was little, his mother used to tell him the same thing. His father wasn't a bad person. A.J. was just angry. Steve? Well Steve was drunk off his ass and thought that Ryan was a cop. An eight year old cop.

Ryan rolled his eyes. He'd heard it all. He'd said it all. After they'd hit him, and he went to bed, he'd cry as he whispered the words to himself through sobs. They didn't mean it. They were just angry. When they hurt him, it meant they loved him.

He clenched his fists. Eddie had hurt Theresa. And she had used the same excuses that he had. That had made him want to kill Eddie more than the fact that he punched her.

Theresa didn't know. She didn't know that those excuses weren't real. She hadn't crossed the little line of realization that he had. Those fists had no excuse. They were pure hatred, shoved out of the black heart of a man who had once been an innocent child and released through his hands.

Did Ryan love Theresa?

Probably not.

But did he love Marissa?

Probably not.

So he didn't love Theresa and he didn't love Marissa. Which one did he _like_ more, then?

Theresa had betrayed him, but Theresa hadn't been his girlfriend, had she? And he was the one that left Chino without telling her. Then again, he couldn't tell her, because if he had told her, she would have talked him into staying with her. And he hadn't wanted to impose on Theresa's mother. She had had enough trouble as it was, taking care of her two children the way she did. Theresa ate three meals a day and never got hit. _Her_ mother didn't have an abusive boyfriend.

Actually, Theresa's mother didn't have a boyfriend at all. After Theresa's father died, her mother never quite recovered.

Theresa took care of Ryan when he got severely beaten. Her mother had taken him to the hospital herself when Steve had accidentally broken his arm.

Theresa had found him on the ground two days after he had gotten his ass kicked and had called her mother on the payphone after she had dragged Ryan outside.

Theresa was tricking Ryan to have a man to protect her. Ryan wasn't a man, he was a boy, and he didn't need to take care of another girl. It was probably his fault that she had to trick him, though. It was always his fault.

Marissa had betrayed him as well, but for Oliver. She had chosen a boy she'd met in a psychiatrist's office over her own boyfriend, for Christs' sake. And she hadn't been that much better with Luke. Even though Luke cheated on her, she had offered to spend the night with Ryan voluntarily the night the model home burned down. Maybe things were different in Newport, but in Chino, that meant he would have gotten some action from her.

A lot of things were different in Newport than they were in Chino. For one, it was always sunny. It seemed to Ryan that Chino was in a perpetual state of gray. The sun didn't shine outside, and it didn't shine inside his heart. There were never people who really cared about him in Chino, besides Theresa and his brother.

Seth cared about him. Perhaps more than Trey did. What the hell was he talking about, Trey had gotten him sent to jail. Of course Seth cared about him more than Trey did. Sometimes Trey sent Ryan to pay off his drug dealers-- with only half the required money.

Then Trey would walk into Ryan's room and apologize, and say that he would never ask him for anything ever again. But it was always a lie. And an apology didn't do much good when it was a lie, did it? An apology didn't take away the scars and the bruises.

Seth didn't say a proper goodbye. That broke Ryan's heart more than Trey's lies did. He sat there, made of stone, not willing to shed a single tear for the boy Ryan thought he considered a brother. Seth sure had said it enough times.

Ryan sobbed silently out of Theresa's view as the truth dawned on him. He had never told Seth that he thought of him as a brother. He hadn't told him that some things were thicker than blood. That his love for him was one of those things. He had ripped Seth's heart and thrown it into the ocean without telling him the truth.

The ocean.

Seth thought he was so stealth. He had left the note addressed to "Mom and Dad" in plain view on his desk, and Ryan had seen his backpack looming in the background, right behind his bed.

Ryan hadn't said anything. He had no right to. If _he_ was leaving, why shouldn't Seth? It was quite obvious that Seth was going to sail away into the sunset, as he once planned to do with Summer. God, he was so melodramatic sometimes.

Ryan liked that about him. He loved how Seth managed to make him feel better, even in the worst situations.

Then again, this _was_ the worst situation, and Seth hadn't made him feel better.

Ryan had expected him to say a joke, a snark... anything. Anything that wouldn't make him feel like he was leaving a part of him in the Cohen house. I mean, a part of him would always belong there, but he was thinking more of a part of him that made him lose who he was. A part of him that would make him become one of those people that he hated so much.

Oh God.

What if he left the good him in Newport? What if the Ryan he was now was exactly what he was trying to run from? What if now he was going to be that horrible person who hit kids and drank alcohol he found in the dumpster?

No. No, he wasn't going to be like that. He wasn't going to be one of his mother's boyfriends. He wasn't going to let people hit Theresa's child like it were something of little, or even no value.

He remembered being so proud of his mother when she tried to stop her boyfriend's from hitting him. But that didn't happen very often.

What was he saying, Dawn didn't love him. Dawn loved herself. That was the only person she was able to care for.

Kirsten Cohen was a different story.

Ryan was sure that Kirsten would throw herself in front of a moving truck to save Seth's life. Hell, she would probably do that for him. Of course he would never let her, but it was nice to think that she might.

Kirsten had cried for him. She had shed tears for a boy she had known for a year. She hadn't cried that much, but it showed him that she cared. That and the fact that she made him a lunch. His own mother had kicked him out of her house with nothing more than his bike, a bruise, and those six words that always haunted his dreams.

"I want you outta my house..."

She hadn't bothered with a sandwich. Actually, Ryan didn't think she knew how to make sandwiches. Unless they were made with alcohol. A 7&7 sandwich. They could sell it at Subway!

Seth would say that if he were here.

The tears were back. There they were, acid in his eyes, begging to be released. And this time, they were going to fall, no matter how hard he fought them back. Luckily, he was distracted by his very own damsel in distress. Tears poured from her beautiful eyes.

"I'm so sorry..."

"Not your fault." he said, slightly bitter. Right now, he shouldn't be mad at her. At least her disturbance had made the tears disappear.

"No, it is. This baby probably isn't even yours. I mean, we only did it once... Me and Eddie, we had sex all the time--"

"Good to know." Ryan interrupted, not daring to meet her eyes.

"Ryan...Why did you come with me?"

Ryan chanced a look at her as he gave a small sigh.

"Because I needed to help you." he said, his blue eyes connecting with hers for a brief second before he pulled them away. She knew him too well. She would see the tears that still threatened to spill from him.

"I am not your responsibility." she stuttered, also fighting her tears.

She was tough. That was another thing he liked about her. She barely ever cried, but he knew this was a special occasion.

"I thought you wanted me here." he whispered, his tone much softer than before.

"I do...I do...I'm just...sorry." she said, her tears subsiding.

"I know."

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"Ryan! Ryan! Wanna come play with us?"

Ryan shrugged his shoulders and kept his eyes on the ground. His mom was angry at him, and had sent him outside so he'd leave her and dad alone.

"Please Ryan?" She blinked at him several times, trying to get her eyes to well up with tears.

Ryan looked up and saw her brown hair tied into a ponytail on her head. She was wearing denim overalls and her little pink high tops, and her eyes glistened in the sunlight. He immediately got up and dusted his pants off. He couldn't stand to see girls cry.

"Uh, what do you wanna play?" he asked shyly, as she moved his ungroomed hair to the side so she could see his eyes.

"Why don't we go to the park and decide there?" she said, grinning at him.

Ryan nodded and followed her sullenly as she skipped away, every once and a while beckoning him to hurry up.

They sat down on the grass in the park, surrounded by fragrant flowers and big trees.

"Let's play 'Damsel in Distress'" said Theresa, still smiling.

"Ok. How do you play?" asked Ryan, allowing himself a brief smile.

"I'll be the beautiful Lewis Lane, and you can be Superman." she said, waving her arms around dramatically and fluttering her eyelids.

Ryan wrinkled his nose at her.

"I don't like superheroes."

Theresa furrowed her brows and crossed her arms in front of her stomach. "And why not?"

Ryan shrugged. "I dunno...They wear those really tight pants and they have capes. I hate capes."

Theresa rolled her eyes. "Fine then. I'll be the maiden and you can be the white knight."

Ryan smiled.

"Ok. What do I have to do to be a white knight?" he asked, genuinely interested.

Theresa put her right hand on her heart and her left hand up, raising her chin up high. "First, you must get on one knee."

Ryan obeyed.

"Now, you must take a solemn oath. Repeat after me."

She cleared her throat at Ryan's nod.

"I, Ryan Atwood, do declare that I will follow the code of the white knights and protect maiden Theresa Nunez from any harm and help her whenever she asks for help from now until..." She paused, unsure of what to say. "Forever and ever." she finished.

"Forever and ever?" asked Ryan skeptically.

"Forever and ever."

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I will post more as soon as I get my computer fixed from that damn sasser worm. Please do review. I love reviews. They're my friends.


	2. Crème Brûlée

Thank you for the reviews! I really appreciate them. Disclaimers are the same as before, so here we go.

**Back to Hell:** Ryan contemplates his choice to leave, and faces the consequences of leaving the Cohens.

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Kirsten had finally gotten hold of her emotions, although it had taken a while. Sandy let her arms go gently and stood up. He wiped some tears away from his face, scanning the pool house that held so many memories. The mirror where he first taught Ryan how to tie a tie. The weird architectural slant near the door that Ryan hit his head on that one time. He smiled a sad smile.

Sandy Cohen had made a terrible mistake.

What the hell was he thinking, letting Ryan go? He ran his hands through his hair regretfully, anger welling inside of him. This boy was one of the best things that ever happened to his family, and the extent of his getting him not to go was "If I want to, I can make you stay."? He was a terrible person. He could have made him stay. He _should_ have made him stay.

What the hell was he thinking, sending Ryan back to Chino? God, he was so stupid. He had to call him. Even if it was just to make sure he was ok.

"Sweetie, what are you doing?"

Sandy almost dropped his cell phone. Kirsten hadn't said anything for the past ten minutes. At least she was feeling well enough to speak. If he had been her, he wouldn't have wanted to talk to the man who did nothing to keep their kid from going back to a place he hated.

"I'm callin' Ryan. To see, you know... if he made it to Chino safely."

Kirsten nodded knowingly and got up. "I'm gonna go check on Seth." she said, giving Sandy a small kiss on the lips. Sandy watched her leave.

He believed he remembered Theresa's number well enough, but he thought it better to try Ryan's cell instead.

"Hello?" answered a glum voice on the other end.

"Hey, kid. It's Sandy." There was a pause.

"Hey Mr. Cohen. How's it going?"

Mr. Cohen? Ouch. That hurt.

"Not so great, how about you?"

He heard Ryan sigh before answering. "Not so great. How's Seth?"

Sandy smiled. Only Ryan could make a conversation directed at him about someone else.

"Kirsten's going to check on him. So, uh, did you have a safe trip?"

"Yeah."

Wow, that had to be the quietest response Sandy had ever heard from him, and that kid got pretty quiet sometimes. Sandy thought about staying quiet on the subject of Ryan's departure, but he couldn't stand there and let it go. He couldn't stand to let _him_ go. "Ryan. I made a mistake. I made a horrible mistake and I need to make it up to you. Please come home. Please... We-- we need you here, and I just can't imagine life here without you. You've gotta--"

The line went dead, and Sandy sat on the bed, releasing emotions he couldn't release in front of Kirsten. Or anyone, for that matter.

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What did Sandy expect him to say?

'Sure, I'll come back, and leave Theresa with no one but her mom?' Pilar worked 15 hours a day and barely had time for herself, let alone Theresa and the impending child. But he wanted to go back. He wanted to go back more than anything in the entire world. He wanted the Cohens to take care of him, to tell him that everything was going to be ok. God, what was he, eight? Nothing was going to be ok.

Nothing was ever ok. Except with the Cohens.

Ryan remembered having his birthday dinner with the Cohens. Kirsten must have taken 5 rolls of photographs on present opening alone. He wasn't counting dinner, the "small party" or the after party, at which Seth and Ryan had an ice cream eating competition, to the dismay of the staff. And, well, the dismay of every snob there.

Seth won by an immeasurable amount of ice cream. When told to others, it seemed like Ryan had done pretty well when actually, he hadn't. He had managed two small cups of vanilla and one medium chocolate. Seth had lied to anyone who asked and said that Ryan had eaten eight cups of ice cream.

Ryan could still hear Kirsten and Sandy's screams in his ears. Sandy was rooting for Ryan, and Kirsten was rooting for Seth. Ryan had thrown his spoon in within minutes, while Seth kept on eating.

"Well that was disappointing." Sandy had said while they walked outside, Kirsten holding Seth's arm up while she hummed the _Rocky_ theme song.

He had patted Ryan on the back and put his arm over his shoulder. That night had been perfect.

Then he had to go and ruin it. That's what he was good at. Ruining things.

Ryan sat on Arturo's bed and cried silently. He shouldn't have hung up on Sandy like that. He knew what he did was disrespectful, but he wouldn't have been able to handle any more attempted persuasions to bring him back home. No, because then they wouldn't be attempted persuasions. If he had taken ten more seconds of the Cohens telling him how much they loved him, he would've had to re-pack his bags and leave.

"Ryan? Are you alright in there, mi hijito?" asked Pilar. Ryan had taken Spanish in highschool just for Theresa. He knew that mi hijito meant my son. He also knew that Pilar didn't mean it in that way. She was just that kind to everyone.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine Mrs. Nunez." He wiped the tears away and blinked a few times. Pilar would want to come check on him for sure. The door opened and she stepped in tentatively.

"I know you miss them sweetheart, and I'm sorry about that. Just know that we'll try to make you feel as welcome as possible, alright?"

Ryan nodded. "Thanks."

"Now, I'm going to go to the doctor's with Theresa. Do you want to wait here?"

Ryan nodded again.

She patted his knee as she got up and left. He sat there for the next few minutes, contemplating what to do now. If he remembered correctly, Arturo kept quite the stash in his room. Hopefully he could find some cigarettes in there, since he had no intentions of getting stoned.

The damn phone rang again. "Hello?" he asked, much more bothered this time.

"Ryan, don't you ever hang up on me again, you hear me?"

Ryan cringed. He had never heard Sandy speak to him like that.

"Now you're gonna hear me out, or I'm gonna have to come down there and pick you up myself, understood?" The anger was evident in his voice.

"Yeah. I'm listening." said Ryan, trying to be polite.

"You are a seventeen year old kid, you hear me? You told me yourself that this baby probably wasn't yours, and now you're over there taking care of a girl that could be taken care of perfectly well over here. For the life of me, I don't understand why you can't just come back here. Lord knows that we need one of you here..."

For the first time during Sandy's almost incoherent rant, Ryan realized how frazzled his adoptive father really was.

"Seth is gone, isn't he."

Sandy found it funny how Ryan's voice was completely monotone, as though telling him that he had emptied the garbage can instead of letting Rosa do it. Kirsten was flipping out, yelling at the police and at Sandy about locking the doors and firing the guard at the gates.

"Did you know?" asked Sandy.

"Of course not. You know I would have told you." said Ryan, the hurt only slightly evident in his voice.

"You know what, Ryan? That's it. That's just-- I'm coming to get you. You tell Theresa that if she wants to, she can come live with us. Hell, you tell her mom that she can come live with us. But I am coming to get you, and you better have your bags packed. Understood?"

Ryan suddenly understood where Seth learned to babble.

"Understood?"

He couldn't possibly answer what he wanted to. He wanted to tell Sandy to pick him up as soon as he possibly could, but he mentally chastised himself for even thinking about abandoning Theresa. No. He had to end his ties with the Cohens. If this was how it was always going to be, then he had to cut the connection. They would always be reminding him of what he was missing. Of what he wanted so badly.

He gripped the phone as tightly as he could. It was his connection to his paradise. His lifeline. His little fish bowl. Newport was his fish bowl. He had to get rid of the fish bowl and swim into the ocean. He hurled the cell phone at the wall and fell to his knees.

There. The hard part was over. Now if they tried to drive to Chino, they'd have to find him. Not even Sandy knew where Theresa's new house was. Not even Marissa knew, which was a good thing, because she had a tendency to run to poor Theresa. And if she came here, he might not be able to stay. She had that power over him, and he hated it.

Ryan banged his head against the wall for being weak. He had come there for a reason. He had come to take care of Theresa, and that was what he was going to do.

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The crash sounded in Sandy's ears. Either something had happened to Ryan, or he had destroyed the phone. His money was on the latter. Right now, he felt like throwing the phone on the floor and stomping on it. But he was not a little kid, and he wouldn't deal with his problems like that.

"They won't try to find Seth until 48 hours have passed. What kind of fucking place is this, that they let my son lie about on a friggin raft for 48 hours before they can find him? I'm going to kill that police officer. Who the hell does he think he is telling _me_ I need to calm down? Do I look like I need to fucking calm down?"

Sandy didn't answer that. Instead he pulled her into a hug. "Shh... Seth will be fine, sweetie. Don't worry."

Kirsten sobbed into his shoulder, her warm tears soaking through his shirt. "Are we that horrible? Are we so horrible that our kids want to run away from us?"

Sandy didn't answer that either. He hated to think so, but maybe it was true. After all, hadn't Ryan hung up on him twice? Ryan couldn't stand him for more than two minutes before throwing his phone away? God, he hoped not.

---------------------------Flashback--------------------------------------------

"Why, hello there, young man. How may I help you?" Mrs. Murray hadn't seen anyone this boy's age in her library for ages.

"I'm looking for a cook book." said the boy quietly. His blonde hair covered the top half of his eyes, and his face had a rather large bruise on it. She eyed it suspiciously before nodding and stepping out from behind the counter.

"What kind of cook book would you like?" she asked kindly, deciding that this boy needed all the kindness he could get.

"One that teaches you how to make crème brûlée." he said.

Mrs. Murray raised her eyebrows. Crème Brûlée? There was definitely something special about this one. She pulled a book out of the shelf and handed it to him. He shook his messy hair out of the way and gently took it from her hands. "That one has two types of crème brûlée." said the librarian, smiling.

The boy didn't smile back, instead looking at his feet and saying a small "Thank you."

She patted his head and regretted it when he recoiled, his chest moving up and down quickly. She frowned and stepped back behind her desk.

"Uh, do you have a library card?"

The boy shook his head.

"Ok, well let's make you one, then." She smiled again.

"Ok, why don't you tell me your name and your age?"

"My name is Ryan Atwood and I'm eight years old."

_Eight?_ She thought he looked more like five, but then again, that could be because of his scrawny form and short stature.

"Ok. Now I'm going to need your mother or father to sign this."

He looked down once again and cleared his throat.

"My-- my mom is at home. And, uh, my dad... my dad is--" He couldn't finish.

Mrs. Murray cocked her head in pity and handed him the card. "When you have the chance, just get your mom to sign it." She winked and handed him the book. Her smile widened when he gave her a small half smile. "Thank you." he said, turning around and walking out.

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"Ok, so you put the sugar on top and then you burn it?" asked Theresa, her two pig tails dangerously close to the lighter Ryan was holding.

"Theresa, get out of the way, you might hurt yourself." he said, holding her back.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Fine. I'll go get the sugar."

She came back a few minutes later with a handful of sugar. She sprinkled it surprisingly well over the dish, and clapped her hands together afterwards, sending the excess sugar into Ryan's hair. He glared at her, but couldn't resist a small smile.

Ryan moved the lighter towards the plate and grinned when the smell of burnt sugar rose towards them. Theresa sniffed the air with her eyes closed.

"Yummy. Smells good."

Ryan nodded. Ever since his teacher had given him a tiny bite of crème brûlée, he couldn't get the taste off of his tongue. It was stuck there, begging him to have more. He had stolen the lighter from his mom, not caring about the consequences, as long as he got some crème brûlée. He handed Theresa the bent spoon, beckoning her to break the now hard crust.

She suppressed a smile, never in her life having had so much fun as she had with Ryan.

The greatest pleasure came from the sound of the top layer breaking. They shared spoonfuls, indulging in the incredible taste of the dessert. He closed his eyes.

In a way, the crème brûlée was what Ryan Atwood thought of his life. When you looked at him from far away, he seemed happy enough. He had a home, a family, and friends. But when you cracked the top of it, and you looked inside, it was a whole different story. No one knew about the huge bruise on his arm from when his mother grabbed hold of him and dug her nails into him. Long sleeves covered that. No one knew about his slight limp. He hid that well enough himself. And no one knew that often thought about running away at the young age of eight. He had packed his small bag more than once, but reconsidered once he saw his mother passed out on the couch. He would cover her with a blanket and go back to bed.

He couldn't leave her, and he knew exactly why. Because she would never leave him. And that was a fact that he wouldn't cover up with long shirts and blankets. Because that was a fact that he was proud of. His mother loved him, and he didn't care what repercussions came along with that love. Whether it be a bruised arm, or a cut on the cheek, it was better than having no one to love you.

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To Be Continued

Once again, thank you for the reviews. To margiepoo, if by the ending, you mean the little flashback to Ryan playing with Theresa, I'm sorry. For this one, I labeled it Flashback.


	3. Look at Me

Wow! Reviews! I love it! Well, thank you all for the wonderful compliments, you've got me blushing! Ok, **SG**- I'm sorry if it was boring to you, I was just trying to take a break from the stuff I like to write but am so terrible at, like the one's where people get hurt. I'm thirteen (not quite twelve, but still!) and love action. ;)

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"We're back!" shouted Pilar as she walked through the door.

Ryan wiped away some tears from his face, heading for the bathroom to pour some water on his eyes.

'Oh. Right.' he thought suddenly. 'You don't have a bathroom in your room anymore.' They'd just have to see him as he was. He found a mirror in Arturo's room, and looked at his face. His red eyes looked terrible. He found a baseball cap next to the mirror and put it on. It covered his eyes well enough.

"Here, let me help you." he said, taking the groceries from Pilar. She smiled at him, ignoring his puffy red eyes.

"So, uh, what did the doctors say?" he asked, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Theresa grinned. She clasped his hand. "The baby is 100% healthy. Isn't that great?"

Ryan gave a half smile and nodded. That was great.

Theresa sat down happily. "Mom, did you buy any pickles?"

Pilar frowned. "Porque necessitas eso?" she asked.

Ryan frowned. Damn. He didn't know any of those words.

"No puedo tener lo que quiero?" she asked.

Crap. Ryan didn't know any of those words either.

"Sorry Ryan. Um, do you wanna come with me to get some pickles from the corner store? I forgot to pick them up while we were there, and I'm guessing my mom doesn't wanna go." she said.

Ryan nodded, standing up. He got his coat from the hanger and put it on. He noticed that it was starting to rain, and Theresa's car was in the shop. She picked up her pink umbrella, and Ryan noticed a small tear in it. He hoped it wasn't big enough for the tears to fall through, but knowing his luck, the rain would fall right on his head.

Pilar gave Theresa a kiss on the cheek. Ryan took Theresa's hand as they walked out.

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She looked at the bills in her hand. It was going to be much harder to care for another child. At least this one wasn't as demanding as Arturo was.

The phone suddenly rang. Pilar picked it up wearily, saying a slightly sad: "Hello?"

"Hi there. Uh, this is Mr. Cohen. Ryan's fa-- "

There was a pause.

"Ryan's guardian. I was wondering if I could speak to him."

Pilar sighed. She felt dreadful for the poor man. She knew what it was like to not be able to see a son, adopted or not.

"He went to get groceries with Theresa. But if you want I can give him a message."

The man faltered.

"I, uh, I-- I was wondering if you could give me your new address. I have the number, but I just-- I just don't have the address."

Pilar slowly told him her address, asking him if he needed anything else.

"No. No thank you. Uh, would you mind if I came by for a visit?"

Pilar frowned.

"Sure, of course. Ryan will be happy to see you."

Somehow, Sandy doubted that.

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Seth Cohen was being childish.

He knew it. He was sailing away in a stupid boat over something stupid that could be dealt with at his stupid house.

Only it wasn't stupid. It was Ryan.

Seth had been the stupid one. He wished he could've looked at Ryan in the eyes when he said goodbye. Seth snorted. He hadn't said goodbye. He had said "see ya."

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Seth knew that Ryan wasn't going to Pakistan or something. He was going to Chino. Although, couldn't Chino be just as bad as Pakistan? I mean, it was basically like a third world country all in its own, wasn't it? I mean, there were bums and hobos and everything. But hobos and bums were the same thing, weren't they?

What was he _talking_ about? Oh god he was stupid. Thus concluding the battle he was inwardly fighting. Ok, so the conclusions he had come to were:

Ryan wasn't stupid, Seth was.

Ryan was being a jackass, but a jackass that was trying to do the right thing.

Mom and Dad were going to kill him.

The last one struck a chord. He was so screwed. Chances were Kirsten had already called the police. She was so melodramatic. There were other reasons that Seth had been such a loser before Ryan came. His parents were _so _overprotective.

Seth could recall the one time he had complained to Ryan about their curfews. Ryan had shrugged nonchalantly.

"I think it's nice to know that someone cares enough to want us home by a certain time." he had whispered quietly.

Seth had frowned and curled his upper lip in disgust.

"Dude, are you stupid or something?"

Ryan had flinched, and Seth had frowned, guilt tugging at him slightly from his rude comment.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that I've never known anyone who likes curfews. It's kind of minty."

Ryan had nodded, but the guilt hadn't left Seth. So he gotten Ryan an ice cream, despite his protests. He didn't know why exactly Ryan couldn't eat more than a little bit of food at a time, but it really pissed him off.

Suddenly Seth was glad he had his cell phone. Maybe later when he was feeling up to it, he could call Ryan's new "home" and apologize. Maybe that would make him feel better.

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Ryan was smiling by the time he got back from the store with Theresa. She had somehow managed to completely change his mood without him noticing. They had gone to the park and talked. They had talked about their past, their future, and everything in between. They didn't notice time fly by. Ryan did notice, however, that the small hole in the umbrella didn't let the water leak through.

Maybe everything was going to be ok.

"Hello, Mrs. Nunez." he said, leaving the small bag of pickles on the table.

Pilar smiled warmly at him. "Guess what!" she exclaimed, still smiling.

Ryan frowned, the last taste of a smile lingering on his lips.

"What?" he asked.

"Your dad, Sandy Cohen is coming over!" She didn't bother to call him Ryan's adoptive father, or even guardian, because she knew that Sandy Cohen had been more of a father to the boy than his real father had.

Pilar watched Ryan's small smile disappear.

"When? Did you tell him this address?"

Pilar walked towards him, although she noted that he was holding his hands in front of his torso, signaling that she should stay away from him.

"He's coming over right now, and yes, of course I told him the address. Is something wrong?"

Ryan nodded, looking away from her, at the ground.

She hated it when he did that. He used to do that when he was a kid, too. Not a little kid, but later on, at around eight or so. He would usually start looking at you after he seemed to trust you, but then, after a few days, he'd go back to looking at the ground.

"When will he be here?" he asked quietly.

"Well, he called a couple of hours ago, and it doesn't take that long to get here, so he should be here any minute now." She gave him a quizzical look.

"Please..." he whispered, so only she could hear. "Please don't tell him I'm here... I can't really tell you why, but you can't tell him I'm here..."

Pilar frowned. "Then what am I supposed to tell him?"

Ryan shook his head. "I don't know, ok? I just-- tell him I'm out getting some more groceries, or that I'm-- I'm at the library...or the movie store." He looked at Pilar pleadingly. She nodded.

"Ok, but we're going to have a little talk, later, alright?"

Ryan nodded.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sandy's windshield wipers squeaked as they moved back and forth. It never rained like this in Newport.

He stopped near a small house and checked the number written on his palm. It matched with the faux-gold letters on the wooden door.

Knocking on the door, he stepped from side to side, guilt, paranoia, sadness, and complete anxiousness filled his body. He felt as though he were going to fall to the ground in tears. Seth was gone, Ryan was gone, and he felt as though the two of the three most important things in his life were ripped from his heart.

Sandy heard quick footsteps followed by slower ones, and the click of the lock being turned. A short, dark haired woman with a face drawn with thoughts Sandy couldn't quite interpret opened the door.

"Hello Mr. Cohen." she said.

"Please, call me Sandy."

Sandy hated how his voice almost broke when he spoke. It made him seem like he was on the verge of tears.

The back door of Theresa's house swung back and forth in the wind.

"Well, Sandy, it's very nice to meet you. Ryan's told me so much about you." said Pilar with a smile. Sandy nodded.

"I'm sure he has. Is he-- uh, is he here?" Sandy looked around into Theresa's house, finally spotting her as she cut up some pickles.

"No." said Pilar, and although she sounded truthful, her eyes deceived her.

"Do you mind if I--" Sandy stopped. His voice was going to crack if he continued, and he knew it. But he had to continue. Taking a deep breath, he took a risk.

"Do you mind if I leave a message?" he said, his eyes filled with tears. Pilar gave him a pitying look which he hated, and he ran his hands through his hair nervously.

"Go ahead." said Pilar.

Sandy looked over to Theresa, who was cutting the pickles at a much faster speed than before, tapping her foot on the ground in rhythm with her slices.

Sandy took another deep breath. He felt like he was walking on thin ice. He had to take it easy, or he would lose his cool.

"Could you--"

Dammit. His cool was definitely not going to stay with him very much longer.

"Could you tell him that I'm sorry for yelling at him, and I--" His voice broke and he closed his eyes in disgust.

"I need to see him. Life just won't be the same without him, and--" he paused again, his hand running through his hair again for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past three minutes.

"Tell him I love him, and I'm just trying to look out for him."

Pilar frowned, the man in front of her seeming about an inch away from bursting into tears.

"And, and Kirsten's worried about him. She's really worried about him. And so am I! I mean, I just, I'm about to have a nervous breakdown here--"

Well, Pilar didn't need him to say it to know it was true.

"Sandy, would you like some tea?" she asked.

Sandy Cohen looked like he was nine years old as he nodded and looked at his feet.

-----------------------------Flashback---------------------------------------------

Ryan Atwood picked at the food in front of him.

It was the first meal he'd had in a week, and although the cramps in his side were urging him to eat the mashed potatoes and ham in front of him, the much more painful ache in his stomach told him that if he ate anything, he would surely throw it up. And there was nothing that his mother hated more than wasted food. Although, if he left the food on the plate, it would also get wasted.

Ryan could never win.

Everything was a dilemma. He briefly thought about taking a small bite, but the smell alone was enough to make him vomit.

Not that it didn't look delicious. Because it did. It was just that if he ate it, his stomach would revolt, and then Dawn would get pissed.

At the age of nine, Ryan was scared of his own mother.

"What the hell are you doing you little twit?" she asked suddenly, startling the small boy.

"Pardon?" he asked. He knew better than to be rude.

"Eat your fucking food. I slaved in the kitchen all day for that shit, so you'll eat it, understood?"

Ryan glanced at Trey, who was eating as quickly as possible. "Understood?" Dawn asked again, the anger rising in her voice.

"Yes, mom." said Ryan, looking at his plate. He still couldn't bring himself to force the food in.

"Eat!" said his mother, swatting him forcefully on the head. He didn't look up for fear of another swat, but put the fork down.

A second later, Steve put his beer down. Ryan eyed it carefully. It must have been his third... no, his fourth beer that night. "Eat your fucking food, shithead!" said Steve. Ryan visibly recoiled, but didn't pick up the fork. He knew he should be explaining that it wasn't that he didn't want to eat the food, but that he couldn't.

Trey had other resources. He could ask one of his friends to give him food.

Ryan couldn't do that.

His pride forbid him to do that.

"That's it. Get up."

Ryan obeyed, his eyes closed. Steve punched him once in the chin, and the skinny boy fell to the ground. He could have stayed up longer, but he just felt like giving in.

"Get up!"

Ryan didn't. His chin wasn't bleeding, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"I think I'll stay here..." he said, finally gathering the courage to look Steve in the eye and glare.

That was a mistake.

In between the barrage of kicks, Ryan managed to look at his mother, who had her head in her hands. She was shaking her head. It made Ryan want to egg Steve on so that he'd kill him. He wanted to beg her to look at him.

Then again, what did he expect? His mother taught him that looking at your elders was disrespectful, so why should it be any different when looking at your child get beaten?

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To Be Continued...

I'd love some more reviews, if ya get my drift. I'm winking if you can't tell by the non-being-able-to-see-me-action. More soon, I promise!


	4. Itsy Bitsy Spider

Ok. Just a few notes.

**muchtvs**- I totally feel you on the ham. I was going to say pork, but then I guessed that there's no pork in Chino!

**LORA**- Um, sorry if I grossed you out? Would you have preferred if Ryan spat at Theresa? Well, I hope not, because that would just be rude on behalf of Ryan.

**gpotter**- Thank you very much for the compliments! :) Well, it's going to be a medium sized fic, not supersized, and definitely not short.

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Despite what Seth had thought when he was little, the ocean wasn't the greatest company.

Definitely not better company than Summer.

Summer was probably drunk at a party somewhere, hooking up with a random because of him.

Crap. He was being self centered again. He had to stop thinking about himself. Not everything revolved around him.

Now, Marissa, on the other hand...

Everything in the world revolved around her. Of course it did. Because _she_ was Marissa Cooper!

Marissa Fucking Cooper.

God, Seth hated her right now.

It was basically almost all her fault that Ryan was back in Chino. Or, actually, as he liked to call it, hell.

Of course, it wasn't all her fault. It was also Eddie's. Eddie's and Marissa's. And probably just a small percentage of his dad's. And, actually, his.

Seth frowned a little. He had to find a way to pass the time, and maybe calculating the percentages would help. He cracked his knuckles and got to work.

Ok, so Marissa hooked up with Oliver. At least that's what it seemed like. She broke up with Ryan because she didn't trust him, when he probably shouldn't have trusted her for spending the night with Oliver.

Maybe things were different in Chino, but in Newport, that meant he would have gotten some action from her.

Marissa was _such_ a classy lady. Ryan had told Seth about her late night visit after the Oliver incident. Seth had almost choked on his Mountain Dew. He, of course, had nodded along when Ryan said it was hard to say no. He had drifted off to other thoughts, until Ryan's words had snapped him back to attention.

"She smelled like vodka..."

Of course she did. Seth thought she had probably done it on purpose, so maybe Ryan would pity her and say yes.

Yes, she was quite the classy lady.

A lady who had ignored him for more than half his life, and then the second he had a cool friend, had been all over him. Until, of course, she had said cool friend. Then she went back to ignoring him entirely, unless he was with Ryan. Then she'd make casual conversation with him.

Seriously, Seth did not understand Ryan's fascination with her. She had broken his heart more than once, and a heart was something that should not be messed with. Seth knew it was true.

Lord only knew how Summer had messed with his heart when they were little.

The way she disregarded him all the time made him want to crawl into a corner and die. She wouldn't even look at him, ignoring the fact that he was even alive. Sometimes Seth would attempt to talk to her, but her icy glare would pierce through him and make him walk away. He really didn't know what had attracted him to her, and for a few days every year, when she took time out of her busy schedule to insult Seth, he would wonder why he liked her.

Then she'd smile at him, and his heart would melt. He would suddenly remember how secretly smart she was, or how she would twirl her hair around her finger and bite her bottom lip when she was nervous. He'd remember how different she was when she wasn't around her stupid friends, like that one time when she asked him for help on her science project. Seth could still recall her exact words.

"Thanks Sam, you are such a sweetheart!"

Seth hadn't bothered to correct her, but those words alone had made him adore her even more.

Seth shook his head. He was getting off topic. What was his topic again?

Oh right. How stupid they all were for letting Ryan leave. Even though Chino was basically only an hour or two away, it was like the two places were continents apart. It was like crossing a border from happiness, richness and family to sadness, despair and hobos.

Not that Seth would really know, since he had never been to Chino, but he assumed his guesses were correct.

Another thing he assumed was that Ryan was going to avoid their calls like the plague. He probably wouldn't answer their phone calls. Seth didn't know exactly why he thought so, but he had the feeling Ryan was going to try to leave them behind, so he wouldn't have to face the fact that he was living in hell while the rest of the family was living in heaven. Or, you know, a place that was all sunshine all the time.

Seth thought it would be a good idea to call Ryan right now, just in case.

He dialed Ryan's cell number. No response. He knew he had been right.

"I think I'm psychic." he said loudly, glaring at the phone.

He dialed it again, trying to leave a message on Ryan's voice mail.

"Dude, it's Seth. I gotta talk to you. Well, you know, it's about how much of an ass I was yesterday. I'm sorry, and I'm totally going to call you back later. I'm guessing that mom and dad already called you to tell you I was gone, and well, I am. But I promised them I'd be back no later than a month from now, so whatever they tell you is greatly exaggerated. Ok, so anyways--"

Seth glowered at his cell phone. He remembered Ryan setting the length of message allowed to two minutes.

"It's because I don't want to listen to you talk about Summer for thirty minutes before getting to the point."

The voice rung in his ears and he turned around, half expecting Ryan to be on the boat with him. No such luck.

Just a memory.

Either that or he should consider going back to Newport so he could get his mental health checked out.

"What do you think, Captain Oats?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Ryan was shivering outside the house. Another draft of wind shook him to his very core, and he listened to the voices inside, not wanting to chance a look into the house for risk of getting caught.

He had a feeling that if Sandy asked him to go with him, he would definitely not take "no" for an answer.

"Thank you." Ryan heard Sandy say, and he wanted to know what he was saying thank you for. He heard the clink of a mug on a table, and guessed it was tea. Pilar made the best tea.

Ryan sighed as silently as he could. He was such a horrible person. He was making the man he trusted most in the whole world have a nervous breakdown. He should just jump out right now and go back home. As he started to rise, he thought about Theresa. Damn. He sat back down and decided to peek into the small house.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Pilar watched Sandy's hands shake as he pulled the cup up to his lips. He sighed and put the cup back down, just as shakily as before. He clucked his tongue when he spilled some of the tea on the table.

"I'm so sorry. I'm just a nervous wreck right now." he said, trying to clean up the mess with his sleeves.

Theresa ran over with a napkin, spotting Ryan as he looked inside. She gave him a glare, and Ryan understood exactly what the look said.

"Come out now!"

But he didn't. He just stayed there, too scared to move. Too guilty to move.

Sandy thanked Theresa and pulled the cup to his lips once more. He graciously sipped the hot tea, savoring its cinnamon flavor. He hadn't tasted tea this good since back in the day, when Kirsten's friend made him her "special tea bag". He guessed this tea didn't have the special ingredient.

"My other son, Seth, he-- he went out on his little boat. Left us a note. He said he'd be back soon, and that he needed some time to think. I, uh, yeah." He stopped short, unsure of what to say next.

"My wife, Kirsten, she's going crazy. She's on the verge of being suicidal..." For some reason, he let out a pathetic little laugh. He stopped himself before he got out of control.

"I'm-- I'm sorry. I don't know why I--"

"Don't worry about it. Really." said Pilar, her hand rested firmly on his shoulder.

Theresa watched from afar as Sandy's eyes slowly filled with tears, his bottom lip quivering.

"I did something wrong, I know I did. I was waiting for Seth to be there to tell me what I did so I could fix it. I know that sounds strange... but, I dunno, I just called Ryan to tell him I was wrong. He shouldn't be here..."

Theresa lowered her head in shame. Sandy caught her and extended his hand out guiltily.

"Sweetie, I don't mean it like that. I love ya, honey, and I know you're in trouble, but you should both be with us in Newport. You-- he has no future here."

Ryan covered his ears, trying vainly to cover up the words that were jumbling into his brain. He didn't want to hear them, and he didn't want to understand them.

"No. No. No. He doesn't mean it. You're trash. You're worthless. No one wants you. Stay where you are. Stay where you are. Stay where you are..."

He rocked back and forth rhythmically, his hands gripping at his old sweat shirt.

"What was that?" he heard Sandy ask suddenly. Ryan's heart beat faster inside of him, and he looked from side to side, about to panic.

Theresa looked at Sandy quizzically. "What are you talking about?" she asked. Her arms wrapped themselves around her torso.

Sandy shook his head. "I swear I'm going crazy."

Theresa walked quietly over to the back door, stepping outside. Sandy didn't notice her absence.

"I've gotten completely off topic. Here." Sandy took a tissue from his pocket, but instead of using it on the tears that had now stained his cheeks, he grabbed a pen and wrote a letter on the soft paper, sniffling as he wrote.

He tediously folded the delicate sheet and handed it to Pilar, a goofy half smile on his face. Pilar could definitely tell it was fake.

"Could you please give him this?" he asked, the small letter still in his hands. Pilar simply nodded and gently pried it from him. As soon as the paper was out of his hands, Sandy roughly pulled up his shirt sleeve and looked at his watch. It was 9:00 pm.

"I better get going. Kirsten's going to think I've run off as well. Thank you very much for the tea, and I'm sorry I--" Pilar cut him off by waving her hand at him.

"It was no problem. Have a safe drive back."

Sandy bowed his head, offering a small smile as he looked up again.

_"I'm such a terrible person..."_

Sandy frowned. He could have sworn he heard Ryan's voice. He rubbed at his ear, coming to the conclusion that he definitely needed some sleep.

That voice had seemed realistic enough. The same little boy voice that seemed filled with guilt. The same little voice that sounded as though it were going to be stolen from him at any moment. Sandy heard that voice from Ryan every once and a while, when the teenager let his guard down. When he had nightmares...

"I-- I should get going. Thanks again."

He waved again and got into his car. He had a whole lot of explaining to do when he got home.

----------------------------Flashback-----------------------------------------

Ryan lay on his bed, looking at the plain white cast on his arm. He looked up as he heard a tentative knock at the door.

"Kiddo? You in there?"

Ryan sighed deeply and sat up.

"Yeah, mom, I'm here." Where else would he be?

The small boy watched his mother step inside the room.

"How you feelin'?" she asked, touching his leg.

Ryan pulled away from her, looking down.

"Fine."

"I'm so sorry honey." Ryan's eyes narrowed, but he kept his eyes on the ground.

"You know Steve never meant to hurt you, right?"

Ryan snorted.

"Right. He was just drunk."

Dawn smacked him on the head, but Ryan didn't give her the satisfaction of making a sound.

"Listen, I dumped him, ok?"

Ryan frowned and looked at her.

"Really?" he asked, unable to keep the hope away from his voice.

"Yes, sweetie. He won't hurt you ever again. I'm never letting anyone hurt you again. I swear. I love you too much to let anyone else lay a hand on you. I love you, alright Ryan?"

Ryan nodded, suddenly smiling. "I love you too, mom."

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The next week, Ryan was watching T.V. with his mother. He was still not allowed to go to school because of his broken arm. He sighed and looked at it. Trey had written some things on it against Ryan's will, but he didn't mind the vulgar customization.

_"And the lottery numbers are...3, 12, 16, 22, 11..."_ Ryan looked at the fuzzy screen uninterestingly. He glanced over to his mother, who grunted and ripped up her ticket.

The next day, the news was all over the place.

Steve Buscemi had won $300,000 with his lottery ticket.

"Just our fuckin' luck." Trey had whispered in Ryan's ear right before Dawn found out. Ryan had been shaking from the moment he heard. His mother was going to kill him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"You little shit! He should've killed you! I'd be three hundred grand richer if it weren't for you! " The plate landed inches away from Ryan's face and hit the wall, shattering.

She walked over to him, ignoring his pleading eyes, and grabbed him by the arm. He whimpered in pain. She almost pulled his arm out of the cast.

"You're trash. I wish you were gone from here, you worthless piece of shit!" Ryan flinched as she spat out the words.

"Get outta my house. I don't want trash in my house."

Ryan's eyes filled with tears as she tried to push him out of the door.

"Mom, where am I supposed to go?"

His mother had glared at him and shoved him away from her.

"I don't know. Not here. No one wants you here." She slammed the door, and a gust of wind hit Ryan in the face. He clawed at the door, screaming for her to open it.

"Please, mom! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please..."

He sat on the patio, his head resting on his knees. He hugged himself tightly as the rain started to pour mercilessly on top of him.

He waited for the sun to come out and dry the rain up, but it didn't. He waited for the moment that he'd be able to climb up the water spout again, not caring when that time would be.

He smacked himself on the head. He was being stupid. In real life, the spider would die when the water washed it out. His brother taught him that.

Instead of believing in a silly song, he looked up at the sky and let the cold droplets cover his face. No one should be able to see that he was crying. Boys didn't cry. His mother taught him that.

"She doesn't want you. No one wants you. Trash. You're trash..."

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To Be Continued...

I just looked at my chapter titles and realized that I cannot say "Look At Me" without adding "I'm Sandra Dee..." Yes, I'm weird. More soon, I promise.


	5. Quite a Fall

Look at me! Updating again. I'm surprising myself! Some more notes:

**TeacherTam**- You should go over to www.televisionwithoutpity.com, they have the recaps for the show. You can know what happened without watching the episode! And there is a supposed rerun on May 31st of "The Ties that Bind" and "The Heartbreak" on Fox if you're interested.

To all Theresa haters, I sort of feel you. This is not a Theresa-Ryan shipper. Things just... happen.

---------------------------------------------------

"Where the _hell_ have you been?!"

Wow. Kirsten had waited a whole three seconds before blowing up in front of her husband. She didn't mean to be angry, but right now she didn't know what else to feel.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I just went to go get Ryan..."

Kirsten glared at him, trying to look behind him.

"Where is he, then? I don't see him."

Sandy's widened and he flinched, taken aback by her tone of voice. He noticed that she bit her bottom lip tightly, as though guilt would seep from her mouth.

"I-- He wasn't there." said Sandy, still looking at her.

Kirsten focused her gaze on something other than her husband, who she just noticed was soaking wet. Her hand found its way to her face, and she cried, looking for a chair to sit in. All previous anger between the two disappeared, and he hugged her as tightly as he could. They both knew why.

She was the only thing he had left, and he was the only thing she had left.

Seth, Ryan, and Kirsten were the three most important things in the world to Sandy. Seth was on his tiny boat in a not so tiny ocean while Ryan was in Chino, where it apparently rained all the time. Kirsten was his princess, and he was her peasant boy. He smiled at how dirty that sounded.

Suddenly, Kirsten's manicured hand smacked him on the arm.

"What?!" he asked, letting go of her.

"Don't you ever run off like that again, you hear me? I almost called the cops."

Sandy grinned from ear to ear, and for the first time that day, it was a genuine smile.

Kirsten scoffed at him. "God, who would've thought that my husband would be more immature than my son?" Sandy shrugged in response.

For what must have been the hundredth time that day, the phone rung.

Both Cohens ran for it, and Kirsten almost laughed when Sandy tripped on a cord and fell. She reached for the phone, grabbed it, and sighed.

"Hello?"

Sandy looked up at her from the ground. Nothing today had been solved by 'Hello'. If anything, 'Hello' had made everything worse.

"Hey mom, it's me." Kirsten sighed in relief, and Sandy got up.

"Seth, thank god." The moment his name was uttered, Sandy tried to grab the phone. Kirsten spun around in a circle so that he couldn't get it.

"Yeah. Um, I'm sorry about running off like I did."

Kirsten shook her head, ignoring Sandy's hands as they maneuvered over and under her arms in an attempt to grab the phone.

"We'll talk about it when you get back. Which is when exactly, Seth?"

There was a pause.

"Uh..." Sandy grabbed the phone from Kirsten's hands, and noticed that she immediately tried to get it back.

"Seth, it's your father. I'm gonna ask you some questions, and you're gonna answer them or you'll be in a lot more trouble when we get you back, which, believe me, will be eventually. Ready?"

Seth laughed, causing Sandy to frown. "Yeah dad, I'm ready."

"Ok. When are you coming back?"

"Uh, tomorrow." Sandy raised his eyebrows, causing Kirsten to jump up and down and ask him what he said.

"Tomorrow." repeated Sandy, and Kirsten clapped her hands together. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yeah, dad. Ten o'clock sharp. Be there or be square. Anything else?"

"Yeah, Seth. Where do we pick you up?"

"At the dock! Where else would you pick me up? Geez. Have you heard from Ryan?"

Sandy turned away, looking outside at the dark sky and the bright stars.

"Yeah. I talked to him, and either he really doesn't want to hear from us or we have incredibly bad timing. I even went to go see him. He wasn't there."

Sandy could hear Seth sigh as though his father was the silliest person in the whole world.

"Ok, when I get there, we're gonna figure it out and get Ryan back. Don't worry dad, everything will be ok."

Sandy felt himself loose control of his parental skills, and suddenly he was a child.

"How do you know that?" he asked quietly, and Kirsten listened in with him.

"Because I do. I'm just that spectacular."

Sandy laughed.

"I love you son."

"I love you too, dad. Now don't forget about your curfew. See you tomorrow."

Sandy hung up the phone and put it back in its cradle.

"We have some great boys, don't we?" asked Kirsten, hugging him.

"That we do." said Sandy, gently kissing the top of her head. Everything was going to be ok. He knew because Seth said so, and Seth was rarely wrong.

---------------------------------------------------

"I'm so stupid." whispered Ryan to no one in particular.

"No Ryan, you're not. You're not stupid." Theresa touched his knee, sitting down next to him.

"I'm stupid and an asshole. Didn't you hear him in there?"

Theresa frowned, but nodded. "I heard him. It's not your fault, it's mine."

Ryan looked up and laughed. "It's not me it's you?" he asked, still laughing.

"If you ask me--" Theresa began, but Ryan quickly cut her off.

"I didn't ask you." he yelled, looking straight ahead instead of at Theresa.

"If you ask me, I think I made a big mistake in asking you to come here. I think you should go back to Newport."

This warranted a look from Ryan, who frowned and stared at her. "What about you?" he asked.

"What about me? If you want me to, I'll come with you, but I think you need to go back."

"Well I think I need to stay here."

Theresa started to stand up, sweeping the dust off of her skirt. Ryan watched the little beige specks flutter off into the night, and he suddenly wished he was one of them, so he could float around without a care in the world.

"Ok. If that's what you want. Are you coming to the market tomorrow?"

"The what?" asked Ryan, looking at her again.

"The market! You know, the weekly thing we always used to go to? Remember?"

Ryan nodded weakly. Of course he remembered. Those were some of the best days of his life. He'd run away from his pain riddled life to escape into a world where you didn't have to make money to be happy. Where everyone knew your name and helped you out in any way possible. Ryan remembered people telling him the names of counselors who dealt with abuse, but in a way that made it seem like they weren't talking about him.

"So you're coming?" she asked, tapping him on the knee.

"Of course I am." he said, squinting his blue eyes at her.

"Well, if you're sad or anything... you know where to find me." She winked at him and flounced off, her skirt swaying in the wind. When she left, Ryan realized that the rain had stopped. He looked up at the sky, finally seeing the perfectly bright stars. He wondered if he should make a wish, but discarded the thought as quickly as it had come. He got up and dragged himself to his bed.

---------------------------------------------------

"Tomorrow we'll have one back." said Kirsten excitedly to Sandy, who turned around on the bed to face her.

"I know." he said, a smile forming on his lips.

"Isn't that great?!" she squealed, touching his face.

"It is, sweetie, but what about Ryan?" He reached for the delicate fingers that were caressing his face, and stroked them subconsciously.

"Seth will help us get Ryan back." stated Kirsten.

Sandy found it amazing how confident she sounded.

Then again, she hadn't heard the phone call between Sandy and Ryan. Nor had she seen his breakdown in Theresa's house. He found himself wanting another cup of cinnamon tea.

"Ryan's gonna come back to us. Don't worry."

Sandy looked at her, noting that her eyes were closed as she said the words. God, could he love her more? He didn't think he could if he tried. She was so beautiful, smart, naive and wise at the same time. She hadn't lived the hard life like Sandy and Ryan had. She hadn't needed to worry about food, or had cops raid her house.

Not that Sandy had dealt with that. He just picked up clues and hints from Ryan's nightmares. When he heard the strangled cries from his bedroom, he'd go outside and step quietly into Ryan's room. The boy, who would usually wake up at the slightest motion, would keep on struggling with his subconscious, fighting whoever it was he was fighting. Sometimes the dreams weren't so violent. Sometimes Sandy could barely hear them.

That was why Sandy always kept his window open.

He did it so he could hear the screams. He would go down there and calm Ryan down, comforting him with his voice, and bring him water to drink for when he woke up. He always woke up with a scratchy throat. Sandy suddenly got a lump in his throat.

Who was going to take care of him when he had nightmares in Chino?

---------------------------------------------------

"Ryan? It's me." Theresa tapped lightly on the door and opened it. Ryan stirred and sat up. Theresa looked at his shirtless form. He had been working out. Her eyes drew away from his torso and moved to his face.

Theresa noticed that he was blushing. He put on a shirt and stood up, stretching as he did so.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Theresa smiled. He always jumped to the conclusion that everything was the worst case scenario.

"Nothing's wrong. I just came to check up on you. How are you?" She stepped closer to him.

"I'm fine." said Ryan skeptically. Suddenly, Ryan felt her lips touch his. He closed his eyes and took a moment to relish the moment.

Theresa smelled like a hundred summer days spent lounging in the sun. She tasted like ocean spray, a comforting mix of saltiness and sweetness. He suddenly remembered his first kiss with her, on the rocks near the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the sandy shore rung in his ears, and he saw himself running along the edge of the beach with her, beckoning her to follow him, as she jumped on his back, asking for a piggy-back.

He pulled away, smiling slightly, his eyes narrowed. He knew what was coming.

"Is this a pity fuck?" he asked, moderately amused.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, innocently staring back at him.

"This _is_ a pity fuck." he said to himself, nodding up and down. She gently touched his face and kissed him.

"Who cares?" she whispered, climbing on top of him.

---------------------------------------------------

_"Te amo..."_ she whispered in his ear.

The one lone ray of sunlight shone in Ryan's eyes, and they fluttered open. He turned over to his side and looked at her. She put her hands in his hair and kissed him on the cheek tenderly.

"You know, I understand Spanish, Theresa. I know what you're saying."

"De verdad?" she asked mockingly, tickling the side of his face with her fingers.

"Si. _Todo_." he lied back, kissing her on the lips. Of course he didn't understand everything she said in Spanish. He only knew a few sentences.

"I know you don't love me, and I don't care." she said, getting up.

"Ok. As long as we're good with that." he said, stretching on the bed. He cracked his knuckles.

"Don't do that. I hate it when you do that." she said, her eyes narrowed. Ryan cracked another knuckle.

"Do what?" he asked innocently, his eyes wide.

"That!" she said, turning around.

_Crack._

"You do that one more time, and I swear--" she smiled at him, inching her way closer.

_Crack._

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The wind had messed up Seth's hair. He fixed it absentmindedly, looking ahead of him. The docks were nearer now, and he gave a sad sigh.

"Time to go back." he said to himself quietly. The boat got closer to the wooden dock, and he started to tie it back up.

He looked at his watch. Kirsten and Sandy were late. That was odd. He thought for sure they'd be four hours early. As he got on dry land, he looked around. Nope. His parents were no where to be seen. He saw the ice cream store and shrugged. They probably would be here very soon, and he wanted a fudgesicle. He bolted towards the store and got out his wallet.

"D'ya got any fudgesicles?" he asked eagerly.

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Kirsten yawned and looked at the alarm clock.

10:00 a.m.

"Holy shit. Sandy, wake up!" She shook him as hard as he could and jumped out of bed.

"Do I have to go to school today?" croaked Sandy, opening his eyes.

"Sandy, shut up and get up. We're late to go pick up Seth."

Sandy immediately sat up and gathered up his clothes from the previous day.

It took them a total of three minutes to get dressed.

"Come on, get in the car, get in the car!" screamed Kirsten, already busy buckling her seatbelt. Sandy ran out after her, jumping into the car and starting it in one swift motion.

They were on the road in a matter of seconds.

"Oh god, Sandy. What if he doesn't see us there and runs off again? What if he's suicidal this time?!"

Sandy took a second to look at her and pat her thigh.

"Don't worry. He's not as melodramatic as you."

"Sandy, don't you joke with me. I'm _one_ joke away from being suicidal myself."

Sandy nodded in understanding, putting his attention on the driving at hand.

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"Yumm... fudgesicle."

Seth walked out of the Ice Cream parlor five dollars poorer and three fudgesicles richer.

He looked over and heard the screeching of tires, followed by the sound of a car going over a bump.

Seth recognized the Range Rover and walked steadfastly towards it. A rather disheveled looking Sandy and Kirsten stumbled out of it, instantaneously running towards their son. They pulled him into a tight hug, and didn't pull away until he pushed them lightly.

"Holy crap, have you guys been drinking?" he asked, a smirk playing on his face as he raised an eyebrow.

"Dad, your shirt is inside out... And your pants are falling down."

Sandy looked down, suddenly realizing his appearance, and raised both large eyebrows in shock, turning around to fix himself and his belt.

"You guys look like hobos." stated Seth in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You don't look much better." Kirsten shot back, shoving Seth gently.

Seth waved his hands around and twirled his hair.

"Really? You don't think I look refreshed? Like I just got botox or something?"

Kirsten laughed. Maybe Sandy was right. Maybe Seth was going to make everything alright. After all, who could say no to a face like his?

"Fudgesicle?" asked Seth, waving the little plastic wrapped desert in front of his parents' face. They both reached to get it, but Seth opened it for them.

"Aw. _Aw_, look what you did! You crushed it when you hugged me! Oh no, this is definitely not fit for you guys to eat. No-- no really, I'll eat it. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Both parents laughed once more. Yup. Seth would definitely make everything alright.

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"Ok. The little dog leashes are two dollars, the treats are a quarter each, and the beds vary depending on the size. You should figure it out soon enough." said Theresa, spinning around.

"Any questions?" she added, twirling her hair around one finger.

"Uh, yeah. Why am I stuck selling dog stuff while you sell baby clothes?"

Theresa scoffed at him. "Because I'm the one having the baby." She said, shaking her head and smiling.

"Oh. Right. My job is done, right?"

"Not even close." said Theresa, pulling him in for a kiss.

---------------------------------------------------

Theresa counted the money in the small plastic box meticulously.

"So people still care more about dogs than kids." she said, still counting.

"Well I don't think it's about the dogs so much as it is about me." said Ryan, looking at the ground sheepishly.

"Oh, you cocky little bastard." said Theresa, pushing him playfully.

"Ryan Atwood. Holy shit." Ryan looked up to see Jayne waving at him.

"J--Jayne? What are you doing here?" he pulled her into a hug. Theresa smiled at the teenager and got up to hug her.

"I haven't seen you in so long! What are you doing here?" Jayne shrugged at Ryan's question.

"I live here now. Yeah, just moved in."

Ryan stared at her. Her green eyes penetrated his, and he looked down, for fear of having her see through him.

"Well, here's my phone number. You guys call me, alright?"

Ryan smiled shyly at her and took the piece of paper she handed him.

"Bye Theresa. Bye Ryan."

"Bye Jayne." whispered Ryan.

---------------------Flashback------------------------------

"You guys are slow." screamed Ryan, watching as the two girls trailed behind him.

"Ryan, be careful. Don't forget about your arm!" shouted Jayne from behind Theresa.

"You just got it out of the cast, you wouldn't want to put it back in there again!" added Theresa, looking at the blonde boy, who was already all the way at the top of the tree.

He was wearing a shirt that was much too big for him, and baggy blue jeans. His sneakers were ripped and completely torn apart.

The girls arrived a few seconds after he did, and they all sat down on the tree branch.

"Look! I can see my mom's stall from here!" squealed Theresa.

Ryan squinted his eyes in the sunlight. He couldn't see what Theresa saw.

"Where?" he asked.

"Over there!" Theresa pointed out her mother's small stall, but Ryan still couldn't see it. He leaned forward as far as he could, and looked down. He hadn't realized how high he was. He disregarded the thought and leaned out further. He felt his legs slip, and heard the two girls scream before he hit the ground.

---------------------------------------------------

_"Where are your parents?"_

The voice seemed far away, as though it were coming to him through the school speaker phone.

_"They're just outside. Can we please stay here? He's our best friend."_ That was Theresa's voice. He knew it.

"I don't know. I think your parents should be in here. Actually, I think _his_ parents should be here." The voice sounded clearer now.

Ryan heard Jayne break into tears. He tried to sit up to make her stop crying, but he couldn't move. That was never good. Jayne was his best friend, as was Theresa. He met Jayne at the market one day, as she walked around, trying to find someone to play with. Ryan and Theresa had agreed, and they had never been separated after that.

_"Please."_ asked Theresa. Ryan could almost feel her eyes welling up with tears.

"Alright. But could you have to promise you'll leave if his mother gets here."

_If._ His mother wasn't here, but his friends were. And his friends' parents. God, was he the only one with parents who didn't care?

"Ryan? It's Jayne."

"And Theresa."

Ryan pried his eyes open so he could see the two girls. Jayne's blonde hair tumbled over her face, while Theresa's brown hair stayed held back by a ponytail. They were looking straight at him, and it made him dizzy.

"Ah! You're awake!" said the doctor happily.

"Ye-ah." Ryan's voice cracked.

"You took quite a fall there, Ryan."

Ryan looked at the man. He knew him from somewhere. Ah. He was the doctor that helped him when Steve had beaten him unconscious. His name was Dr. Monroe. No. Dr. Murray.

"I'm never climbing another tree again... or going any higher than a ladder." said Ryan, a small smile on his face.

"What about our plan to fly to Mexico?" asked Theresa seriously as Jayne giggled.

"No. Definitely not happening."

"Ryan!"

His mother shoved the doors open, her face a portrait of rage.

"This is the second time this month I've had to come get you at the hospital, you little--" Dawn spotted the doctor, who scowled at her, daring her to finish her sentence.

"Angel..." she ended, not taking her eyes off the doctor. She found her way to Ryan's side and took his hand in hers.

"Are you alright?" she asked, glaring at him.

"I'm fine." he said, returning the glare.

"Rob and I were so worried." she lied, squeezing his hand tighter. He didn't make a sound.

"When is he allowed to leave?" she asked, digging her nails into Ryan's flesh, watching as he gave the smallest of flinches.

"Tomorrow. You're lucky he didn't have any more serious injuries." said the doctor, his eyes still narrowed at the woman with too much make-up on and product filled hair.

"Yeah. _Real_ lucky." she answered.

---------------------------------------------------

To Be Continued...

A slightly less brutal flashback. Hope you like it!


	6. He was Perfect

Moi? Updating once again. I never thought it would happen, but believe me, it is one of the greatest miracles. Sorry about the delay, what with dentist appointments and trips to Vancouver and Moss St. Markets and plenty of tests, it had taken a while.

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Theresa and Ryan laughed as they hauled the unsold items back into the house. Pilar hadn't gone to the market since her husband died, and now she went to work while Theresa took care of the market.

_"What do you mean I was late Tuesday? I wasn't!"_

They both heard her, even though the door was closed. Neither of them said anything, but instead listened intently.

_"Please, Mr. Packford, I didn't-- I wasn't, please..."_

Ryan looked at Theresa, who had her eyes closed and was fighting back tears.

"Ok. Next week is my last week?" Ryan heard Pilar start to cry. "Alright."

Ryan laid his hand on Theresa's shoulder, letting her know that he was sorry without saying a word. He never had needed to say anything to Theresa and Jayne. They always knew what he was thinking, and it scared him. Theresa slowly pushed the door open, and tried her hardest to seem like she hadn't heard her mother lose her job.

"Hi mom!" she said through false cheerfulness.

"Hey sweetie." said Pilar, looking away.

"How did it go at the market?" she asked nonchalantly.

"It went great, mom." said Theresa, putting the money box in front of her mother and leaving the room. Ryan followed her, waving at Pilar as he went. He closed the door and sat beside Theresa, who stared straight ahead.

"It'll be ok." said Ryan after several minutes.

"Really? Because it doesn't seem like that to me."

"I'll get a job, you can get a job until you-- can't, and it'll all be fine. Really."

Theresa nodded, and lay down on her bed. Ever since she had left Newport, she noticed that no other bed felt as comfortable as the one in the pool house. They all felt hard and rough, while the mattress on Ryan's bed had seemed soft and bouncy, and when she slept she always had nice dreams.

Ryan covered her with a blanket and kissed her on the forehead. He closed the door behind him and went to Arturo's room to sleep. He needed it.

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The California sunshine woke all the Cohens up the next morning. Seth boogied his way down to the kitchen first, where he made himself some flavored oatmeal and coffee.

"Ah, brown sugar and maple. How I missed thee."

Kirsten and Sandy came down next, watching as Seth stretched and yawned over a ridiculously huge bowl of oatmeal. He had immediately started stating his plan to his parents.

"Ok. Now I'm going to lay out a plan and we'll have to follow through with it, alright?"

Both parents nodded. Seth placed his hands on the table and looked at Sandy and Kirsten.

"Alright. Mom, your job is to stay at the home front, understood? If Ryan calls and says, I dunno, 'I'm brooding and sad, pick me up to go home now so I can brood at home!' or something, call us and we'll be there quicker. If he shows up here, call us and we'll drive back at crazy speed. If, Moses forbid, something has happened to him, and the cops call here, call us, and get to wherever he is. We'll meet at said location. Everything clear?"

Kirsten nodded. "So anything that happens, I call you?"

Seth closed his eyes and bobbed his head up and down many times. "Exactamundo."

"What about me?" asked Sandy, looking at his son.

"Ok, I'm the brains and since Ryan isn't here, you're the brawn." Seth glanced over at his mother, who was laughing uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, your father, the brawn? I'd be better at that. As a matter of fact, I think I can beat Sandy at an arm wrestling match." Sandy nodded scoffingly at her.

"Thanks, sweetie, you're ever so kind."

"Hey! Hello? Parentals? Back to the subject at hand. We'll pay surprise visits to Ryan at Theresa's house, and then find out exactly when he's home. Like, say, in the middle of the night. Although, I really don't think it'd be such a great idea to sneak in on him, since he does not deal well with surprise wake-up calls."

Seth knew that was a fact. Once he had snuck into Ryan's room at night to tell him about Summer's compliments on his "abilities". He had been so excited to tell anyone about it, he had shaken Ryan awake and received a punch in the face. The action had been so quick, Seth hadn't even realized it was happening until he was stepping back a few feet.

What had scared Seth the most was the way Ryan had woken up. The sweat was visible on his forehead as the moonlight glimmered on it, and his eyes were wide, looking for his attacker. It had taken more than thirty seconds for his breathing to steady, and even longer for him to see Seth, hands near his face, standing almost right beside him.

Seth had kept his distance until he saw Ryan frown and reach for his face, touching the sweat that had accumulated there. He had looked to his side and seen Seth, who was looking at him, his eyes questioning him with an equal mix of guilt, anger, and confusion.

"Wha-- Why are you..." Seth hadn't exactly known what Ryan was asking him.

"Did I-- Oh god..." Ryan had put both hands over his face, taking a shaky breath. At this point, Seth had felt so bad for him that he had gotten a few steps closer and patted his friend on the back.

"It's ok, buddy. Don't worry about it. It was my fault, really. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. I was a little excited." Ryan had taken another deep breath, trying to look at the damage he had done.

Seth had a bruise on his cheek, but no further damage as far as Ryan could tell. It looked like it was going to hurt the next day.

"What the hell happened to your face?!" Kirsten had asked the next morning, as Seth trudged into the kitchen, his face an ugly combination of pink, purple, and blue.

"Morning mom."

Ryan had guiltily stepped in afterwards, not looking at anyone. His hair had looked disheveled, as though his hands had been run through the blonde strands a hundred times. He had explained everything to Kirsten, who wasn't quite as angry as he would have imagined. Sandy had come in soon afterwards and had whispered something to Kirsten about Ryan's nightmares. Ryan had gotten off with an afternoon's grounding, while Seth got a severe lecture about sneaking in on people while they slept. Especially if that person was Ryan Atwood.

"Yes, we all know about Ryan's sleeping patterns." replied Sandy, and Seth shook his head, realizing how off track his thoughts had gone.

"Ok, so we should be off. See you later, mom." Seth delivered a kiss on the cheek to his mother, and she wondered if maybe the surprise trip to Catalina, as Seth had told them was his destination, had been good for him. She would never tell anyone she thought that though.

------------------------------------------------------

"Theresa?" asked Ryan, knocking on the door of his friend's room.

"Yeah?" she asked from inside, opening the door so he could come inside.

"I'm going to, uh, drop my resume off at some places."

Theresa laughed, much to the amusement of Ryan.

"You have a resume?" she asked.

"Yeah. 'Course I do. Sandy helped me make it." Theresa examined his face. He had the biggest smile on it, obviously proud of the memory that was surely lodged in his head.

"Well, there's a couple of bucks above the fridge, so you can go make copies."

Ryan nodded. "Gracias." He rubbed his neck and smiled at her.

There was an awkward silence, and Ryan suddenly cleared his throat. Unfortunately, Seth Cohen was not there to fill the silence, as he always did.

"I'm gonna go." he said, waving as he opened the front door. Theresa waved back.

"Don't forget to be back by four! My mom is making sopapillas." she shouted before he closed the door, laughing when she saw a thumbs up appear, then quickly disappear.

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"Hey, you know what? We could stay the night in a Chino hotel!" said Sandy, false enthusiasm in his voice.

"Do you think they have toilet paper?" Sandy looked at Seth, eyebrow raised.

"Come on, Seth. It's not that bad."

"Perhaps they just have to settle for scraps of wood strips." Seth mumbled, secretly smiling.

"Hey! You don't know that Seth. Maybe they have recycled paper cloths." Sandy knew he shouldn't be making jokes. Hell, yesterday he was crying in his car, wishing he had the strength to drive off the edge of the road and die. There was something that radiated off of Seth that made him happy all the time. It was part of the reason that he had wanted to kill himself when Seth had gone off.

_"I'm warnin' ya. You run away, I'm comin' with you."_

Sandy shuddered as he remembered the words. Seth hadn't promised when Sandy asked him never to run away. Seth didn't know how Sandy had freaked out when he found out about his departure. He didn't know the thoughts that ran through his head.

Maybe Seth was dead. Maybe he was unconscious and washed up on a shore somewhere. Maybe he was hurt in some way. Maybe he had amnesia and had forgotten all about them. That was when Sandy chastised himself for watching _way_ too many of Kirsten's soap operas.

"You know, I'm still not over the little trip to Catalina." said Sandy suddenly, causing Seth to ditch the smile on his face and nod seriously.

"I know. And I'm really sorry."

"You had me incredibly scared. You know that, right?"

"I know." said Seth, head bowed.

"Now this time you _have _to promise me that you'll never run off like that again, understood? Promise me."

"I promise." said Seth seriously, and he looked up and smiled at his dad.

"Dad?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"How often does Ryan have nightmares?" Sandy gulped, suddenly thirsty.

"About once a week." he replied, noticing how Seth's eyebrows raised slightly.

"That's pretty often." he said, nodding.

"Yeah. They're pretty scary, too. Sometimes, when it takes a little longer to calm him down, I listen to what he says." said Sandy, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared straight ahead of him.

"What does he say?" asked Seth, his voice dripping with interest.

"He tells people to stop hitting him. Rob, Steve, Dave... Dawn..." he finished quietly, peeking over at Seth, who frowned. "He freaks out if you touch him, too. He starts kicking and screaming, and then completely breaks down. I'm talking full blown tears and screams.." Sandy paused and took a deep breath. "I hadn't realized how horrible his childhood was until the first time I heard him." Sandy grimaced. He hadn't noticed how much information he'd let slip out until he looked at Seth's shocked face.

"I-- uh. I didn't know. I tried not to think of his past a lot. I like to believe that he's always been with us..." Seth laughed at himself and looked over to his father, who gave a sad smile.

"Sometimes I think that too. When we have dinner together and talk. When-- when we go down to the beach. Those dreams, they're wake up calls. They always remind me that he's not ours. That he had a past and that it's not pretty. And now that he's in Chino, it makes it even worse because now-- now he really_ isn't_ ours. And it makes me think--"

"He was never ours to begin with." finished Seth.

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"So you worked in construction a few summers... worked a summer at 'The Crab Shack'?" The man looked at Ryan curiously. "In Newport?"

Ryan nodded.

"And now you wanna work here. In Chino. In a grocery store."

Ryan nodded again.

"Well you have enough qualifications, and we're low on staff, so sure. Why not. You can start work tomorrow." The man didn't shake Ryan's hand, but he nodded and got out of the office. Ryan got up, quite proud of himself, and walked out of the open door. He heard a familiar voice and spun around, looking to see where it came from.

_"Marco, just go to the liqueur store and buy me some gin, alright?"_

"Alright." replied Marco, waving and walking out the grocery store.

"Mom?" asked Ryan, the slightest of quivers in his voice.

"Baby? Is that you?" questioned his mother, turning around and looking at him.

"Aw, baby I missed you so much." She reached out to hug him, and he stood there, rigid. As though he were frozen solid.

"Why are you back here in Chino? You visiting your brother?"

Ryan shook his head and looked down. He knew better than to look at his mother in the face. Especially now that he was back to being trash.

"Naw. I-- I live here now." He chanced a look and saw the shock on his mother's face. It slowly changed to understanding, and he looked down again.

"Well, you ever need a place to stay or anything, you call me. Here's my number." She searched for a pen in her wallet and took Ryan's hand. She was surprised at how cold it was. She wrote down her number on the back of his hand and held on to it, afraid to let go again. Ryan finally pulled his hand back, and used it to wave at her as he walked out of the store. He couldn't really believe what had happened.

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Seth knocked on Theresa's door, fists hitting it in a strange rhythm that Sandy found familiar. They heard the lock click and the brown haired girl appeared, smiling at them.

"Hi there, Theresa. I'm Seth. The weird one. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I--"

"You're the one with the plastic horse. I remember you." Theresa cut him off. She noticed that he looked down and moved his shoe around, his face turning a noticeable shade of pink.

"Yeah, yeah that's me."

"I thought you weren't with your dad... Weren't on some sort of sailing trip?"

Seth frowned, but nodded.

"Yeah. I came back."

"Well Ryan will be really glad to see you. Because I'm guessing you're here for Ryan." said Theresa, glancing from father to son and smiling.

"That we are." said Sandy, returning the smile. He was going to get Ryan back. He just knew it.

"Well he'll be back in about a half an hour. He just called me a couple of minutes ago. He got a job down at the grocery store!" She couldn't keep the excitement from her voice. "You guys can come in, my mom's making sopapillas. They're delicious." The two Cohens shrugged at each other and entered the house.

The smell of cinnamon and sugar filled their noses, and Seth sniffed the air greedily.

"Sopapillas, eh? Never had any, although it smells ridiculously tasty. Muy bueno." Seth smiled at his Spanish, clearly proud of it. They heard the door squeak open again, and this time, it was Ryan.

"Hey Theresa, I got you some--"

Sandy and Seth looked way too happy to see him. Ryan shook his head. He thought he had imagined Seth standing there.

"Seth? I thought you would be halfway to Catalina by now." Seth smiled, not shocked that Ryan knew where he was going despite the fact that his parents hadn't told him.

"Yeah, well, I had something to do." Sandy looked at his boys and smiled. He knew that it isn't going to be this easy, but he liked to think so.

They all sat down to eat. Ryan's heart was beating faster than it ever had before. He felt closed in, as though he were locked in a closet. He looked around the house, as though searching for an escape, but everything seemed to have a dead end.

The half dinner, half lunch was over faster than expected, and Seth told Sandy and Ryan that he was going outside for a breather. He looked in Sandy's direction, making sure he knew he was just going to make a phone call to Kirsten. He waved the phone around when Ryan wasn't looking. Sandy discreetly got closer to him.

"Don't tell your mother to come down here. It'll scare him off. Tell her he's here and he's fine, alright?" Seth gave a thumbs up and stepped outside.

"Ryan, can I talk to you?" Sandy watched Ryan pat Theresa gently on the back and followed him into the next room, putting the cloth he was holding on a nearby table.

"What are you doing here?" asked Ryan the second the door closed.

"I came to get you back. I mean, I've got one of my kids back, why not get the other?" Sandy tried to smile, but the glare he got from Ryan prevented him from achieving his goal. He took a step towards the teenager, who took a step back. His eyes darted around the room, once again calculating the escapes he had, in case he needed to use them.

"I'm not your kid." The statement, although true, made Sandy feel dead on the inside.

"You're my kid in every way except name."

"And blood." Ryan snapped, his hands crossing over his torso. He took another step back, hitting a desk, and stepped to the side, trying to see if he could sneak past the older man. Unfortunately, just as always, his assailant was much larger than him.

Sandy took another step forward and noticed that Ryan was starting to panic. His eyes glanced from left to right without settling on any object for very long, and his breathing quickened.

"Why are you scared, Ryan?" Sandy asked, surprising himself with the question.

"What are you talking about? I'm not scared..." The way his voice broke seemed to indicate differently. He took a few deep breaths and managed to calm himself down. Sandy's looming figure was making him nervous, and as much as he liked to think that Sandy was unlike the others, right now he didn't know what to think. He kept on remembering Sandy's voice over the phone. The way his tone had made him shudder.

"If you think I'm gonna hit you, you're very wrong." Sandy answered the question Ryan was too scared to ask and tried another step, winning a small battle when Ryan didn't move.

"What do you want from me?" asked Ryan, this time staring directly at Sandy, his blue eyes questioning and desperate.

"What do I want from you? All I want is you, Ryan, don't you see that? We don't want to force you back to Newport, we just want you to come on your own. We need you to see that we made a mistake and we're trying as hard as we can to fix it, but if you don't make an effort to help us redeem ourselves, then you'll be the one making the mistake."

Ryan's lip quivered, and for a second, Sandy thought he was going to burst into tears. He took another deep breath to steady his breathing and calm himself down, and Sandy took another step forward. His attempt to get closer to the boy was shot down as Ryan pressed himself against the wall and shot out his hand, signaling Sandy to stop.

"I told you Ryan, I'm not letting you go." Sandy's eyes were welling up, and he wanted to wipe them with his hands, but all he could do was maintain eye contact with Ryan.

"I don't need you to let go. I need you to get out." His tone was cold, clear, and sharp.

"Ryan..."

"I said get out." He maintained his staring contest with Sandy until the man nodded and turned away. Sandy returned to the kitchen to find Seth sneaking brown sugar and cinnamon handfuls into his mouth.

"I waf just getting weady to help cleam up!" he yelled, caught in the act. The little particles of cinnamon-sugar flew everywhere, and Sandy covered his face with his hands to avoid the flying matter.

"We gotta go, kiddo." said Sandy, placing his hand on Seth's shoulder and squeezing gently.

"Wyan's coming wid us? Cool!" The little bits of cinnamon kept on flying, and Sandy turned away for a second.

"Sowwy." said Seth, swallowing the rest of the sweet topping.

"No, Seth. Ryan's not coming with us. We gotta go."

"But--"

"Seth. _Now_." Sandy pointed at the door, ignoring Theresa's curious stare. Seth wiped his mouth with his jacket and got up. He shuffled out of the house, head bowed.

"Thank you very much for the sopapillas, Theresa." said Sandy politely, closing the door before Theresa had a chance to say goodbye.

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The second that Sandy was outside, Seth was in his face.

"What the hell was that? You said we weren't gonna leave until we got him back! I don't see him here beside me, do you?" he spat out.

"Seth, **Seth!**" Sandy finally managed to get his son's attention by grabbing both his arms and lightly shaking him.

"Ryan didn't want me here, so we're gonna call Kirsten and tell her we're spending the night. We'll stay at a hotel and come back in the morning. Ok? We'll get him back. I promise you that."

Seth whimpered and lowered his head, and Sandy heard him sob. He hugged his son as tightly as he could. For once, Seth didn't protest against his father's show of affection.

"Shh... It'll be ok, Seth. Don't worry about it. It'll be ok..."

It was amazing how Sandy always managed to regain control when the situation called for it.

----------------------Flashback--------------------------------

Dawn sat by Ryan's bed and watched his sleeping form. She watched how he frowned, an unpleasant dream bothering his subconscious. She saw the bruises, even more accentuated in the moonlight, and cried as she held his hand.

She never meant for her stupid boyfriends to hurt him. She never wanted that. He was her baby. Her special kid. Ryan was smarter than her, and she knew it. She just didn't let him show it, because then he would embarrass her, and no matter how great a kid he was, she was still his elder, and he shouldn't disrespect his elders.

"No..."

She started at the sound of his voice. His breathing quickened, and he moved around a little. She touched his head, passing her hand over his soft hair. Ryan had always had softer hair than Trey. Trey's hair was coarse and wiry. The color was ugly too. Almost red. Ryan's hair was delicate and silky. It was a beautiful sandy blonde color.

When Ryan was around four, he was absolutely perfect. People stopped Dawn on the street and told her what a sweetheart he was. Ryan would smile at them.

"How are you today?" he would ask, his icy blue eyes visible with his good haircut.

"Well, you're just too cute!" they would say, and pinch his cheek gently. He would giggle and smile.

"You're so lucky!" they would say, looking down at the little boy dressed in blue denim overalls and a small white tank top. "He's just the sweetest, most polite boy I've ever seen! You better hide your little girl, Sylvia!" They would all laugh and joke while cooing over her little boy. Her sweet little boy.

And Trey would scowl and kick the ground, unhappy about the attention feasted on his little brother. Trey was rude and mean and disrespectful. He would get hit by his father whenever he talked back, which was often. And Ryan would keep on sleeping peacefully. Until one day he woke up and saw his father smack Trey across the face. He jumped to help the big brother he respected so dearly and told his father to leave him alone.

And Ryan wasn't perfect anymore.

He was bruised and battered, and it was all her fault. She cried, and tears fell onto his smooth hand. His skin used to be perfect as well. He used to smell fresh and clean. Now, every few inches, she would find another bump or ripple. Another dent or cut. His hands were still perfect, though. He never defended himself. She had made him think that he deserved the beatings.

One day, she overheard Ryan talking to his friend, Theresa. Theresa told him that his parents weren't supposed to hit him. Ryan had gone home and talked back to his father. Dave had hit him as hard as he could, and Ryan had fought back. She had done all she could to keep her drunk asshole of a husband from killing her baby boy, but that was how Ryan had first ended up in the hospital.

"Mom?"

He was talking in his sleep again. It must have been those percocets they gave him for the pain. She pet his head. She didn't know exactly how long he'd stay mad at her this time, but it couldn't be that long. I mean, she had dumped Rob that afternoon, with Ryan watching from the couch.

She knew it wasn't fair that in his short life, he must have been to the hospital more than five times. She knew it wasn't fair that the kind Dr. Murray kept on paying their medical bills, for reasons untold to Ryan. Ryan didn't even know that Dr. Murray was paying the bills. She wouldn't destroy his pride like that.

Ryan coughed weakly and groaned before settling into a deeper sleep, his frown finally turning into a small smile. She kissed his forehead and closed the door.

Her baby was perfect.

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To Be Continued...

Ok. That was actually quite a long chapter. I'm oh so proud of myself. Please review if you wish to!


	7. Etchings in a Sketchbook

There's still quite a bit in this story. I had the intention of making it short, but then I went crazy and typed for forty minutes straight. When I tried to make it shorter, I didn't really like it. Tell me if you want me to get to the point and shorten it. A note:

**NaijaChiqa**- Well thank you! You're very kind. ;)

To everyone else (except of course, the ever so mysterious "u suck") thank you for the comments. They really keep me going and are incredibly nice to read, especially after a long night of babysitting.

Hope you enjoy it!

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"This hotel is repugnant." Seth wiped the dust off of the T.V. screen.

"Repugnant?" Sandy raised an eyebrow at his son.

"What? I can't say smart words, now?" Sandy raised an eyebrow in response.

Seth looked at the ground and pointed at a calendar on the wall.

"Word of the day?" His father laughed and patted his head. "Very cool, son."

Seth mouthed his father's words, eyes closed and his lip curled.

"Ok. Now we need to get serious. We'll let him cool off and go back in a day or two." Seth's eyebrows raised at the mention of two days, but Sandy raised a finger and made a face, signaling him to wait his turn. "We'll go back and talk to him. I mean _really _talk. You, me, him, Theresa, and Pilar. We'll talk as long as we have to to resolve this thing. We are going to get him back, or--" He didn't finish his sentence.

"Or what?" said Seth, biting his bottom lip.

"We're going to get him back."

"I hope so." Seth looked out of the window and looked down. Sandy touched the top of his head as he leaned over to get his cell phone.

"Who you callin'?" asked Seth, looking up again.

"Your mother. I need to tell her how long we'll be stayin'." Seth nodded.

"Why don't you ask her to come over?" Sandy shook his head.

"No. We still need her at the home front." He said, smiling slightly. "Alright. Fix yourself some food and when you come back, we'll talk about what our plan is gonna be." he added with a sigh.

Seth gave him a look. "I believe I already had a plan."

"Our _revised_ plan."

Seth nodded dramatically. He eyed the food on his plate suspiciously and then looked at his father. "Dad? Do you wanna go out for breakfast?"

"Good idea."

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Theresa was glad that the mechanic had finally gotten her car fixed, even though it had cost her more than it should have. She no longer had Arturo to do all her necessary car fixing. She had taken a few mechanics classes, but she was in no way a wiz.

She suddenly missed Arturo. He had to go and get busted for stealing that car. That one damn car. She knew how it felt to be missing family. First her father, then her brother. The only thing she had left was her mother. Ryan didn't even have that. But he did have people who cared about him. And she realized that she was making a mistake in making him stay with her.

"You should've gone with him." said Theresa quietly as she drove him to work. He shrugged the question off.

"Why didn't you go with him?" She knew it was unwise to keep on pestering him, but she wouldn't leave it alone. Not this time.

"You don't get to do this." he snapped.

"Do what, Ryan?"

"You don't get to just ask me to come with you and change your mind. You made up your mind. You wanted me here, I'm staying here. There's no taking it back."

She frowned and shook her head. Those damn Atwood men were always so stubborn. Even when Ryan was small, he was hardheaded. When Theresa found him trembling outside in the rain at the age of eight, she had asked him what was wrong. He told her nothing. She asked him if his had mother kicked him out.

"No. I just felt like sitting outside. To get some air." he hadn't looked up at her when he said it.

She had snorted and sat down beside him, ignoring the fact that her new pants were going to get wet. She had hugged him carefully, making sure that he knew she was going to.

"You know your parents aren't supposed to hit you Ryan." she had said, flinching at his sneer.

"That's what you said before and that didn't help very much, did it."

She looked away. She was the reason he had gotten sent to the hospital the first time. Before that, she hadn't even known what a hospital was. She didn't know that people died there. After that, it all went downhill. Her father got sick and they were there all the time. Between visiting her father and visiting Ryan, her eighth year in the world had been spent primarily in the hospital.

Theresa put her eyes back on the road, mentally chastising herself for letting her thoughts wander.

Beside her, Ryan sighed and coughed slightly, obviously bored of waiting for an answer from her. Theresa narrowed her eyes at him. He was probably feeling sick from his stay outside in the rain when Sandy came over. She would have to buy him some cough syrup and sneak it into his food. She laughed and he gave her a curious look.

She thought about asking him if he was feeling alright, but she could tell by his pale skin and bloodshot eyes that he wasn't. He probably had the flu or something, and here he was, going to work. He probably felt like shit.

"Quit lookin' at me." he said tiredly, a hint of annoyance and suspicion in his voice. "You're gonna crash the car or something."

She turned away from him. "Newport made you really pessimistic."

He gave a mirthless chuckle and looked at her. "I've always been pessimistic. You just never noticed because you were too busy being happy."

Theresa pulled the car over roughly, regretting it when Ryan's seatbelt pushed against him and he made a face. She dismissed the thought and turned to him, anger in her voice.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked, not caring that he looked a little scared.

"Nothing! It's just that you had a nice childhood and I-- I didn't." Although it was hard, he maintained eye contact. Her anger still present, though slightly subsiding, Theresa found it hard to answer.

"You think _my_ childhood was _nice_? You think it was nice to see you in the hospital every few months, with a broken arm or a bruised collarbone? You think it was nice to find you all alone in your shithole of a house and see no one there to help you when you were hurt? Do you actually think that I liked spending all my free time in the hospital with you and my father?"

She was in tears by the end of her rant. Ryan sat, startled by her words. He unbuckled his seatbelt and bent over to hug her. She didn't protest, letting him comfort her with his soft words.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean it like that..." he slid his hand up and down her back as her body racked with sobs.

"Shh... I'm sorry..." Her sobs subsided, but they didn't pull out of the hug for more than a few minutes.

Ryan wouldn't tell her that he had overheard her mother trying to negotiate the bills. He wasn't about to tell her just yet that he was planning on moving in with his mother, or that she had agreed and he was going to move in with her tomorrow. And he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her that he had talked to Pilar about it, and she had agreed.

He knew it had been a bad idea to live with Theresa and Pilar. He was a walking curse, destroying everything in his path. His mother, his father, Trey, the Cohens... and now Theresa.

"Shh... I'm sorry..."

She had no idea how sorry he really was.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Hello?" asked Kirsten, twirling the phone cord around her finger. It was the only phone with a cord in the whole house, and it was there for a reason. When they first moved in, it had been their only phone. Both Sandy and Kirsten felt it was necessary, so as to keep their old lives in their hearts. Or their phone. They never quite narrowed it down to one or the other.

"Hey sweetie, it's Sandy."

"Hey!" It was nice to hear his voice. That night had been boring and depressing without her husband or sons to keep her company. She ran through all possible solutions to their problem, coming up with more than she could count. She also went through all the things that could go wrong, and all the things that could happen to all three of the absent family members. Most of them ended with crying or hospitals.

Yes, last night had been quite a crappy night.

"Well, I just called to let you know that we're gonna be staying a little longer than planned, and that Seth says you should still stay at the homefront." Kirsten frowned.

"Dad, you're lying! Stop lying!" She laughed at the sound of Seth's voice.

"Yeah, Seth thinks you should stay home, and you can't argue with Seth."

"You really think she's gonna believe you? You really are sad."

Kirsten heard Sandy tell Seth to be quiet or he'd blow their cover.

"Your cover's already been blown, darling." she said, still giggling.

"What was that, sugar plum?"

"Oh, you can cut the niceties, Sanford Cohen. You are in big trouble when you get home. I mean that." She hoped he couldn't tell she was smiling.

"Alright. Hopefully we'll have Ryan by then and you'll be so proud of me you'll forget all about me leaving you at home. Am I correct?"

"You probably are."

"I thought so."

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"Ryan? We're here." Theresa gently shook him, trying to wake him from his slumber. He stirred and fluttered his eyes open with a yawn.

"You alright?" she asked, giving in to the desire to take care of him.

"Fine."

But he just always had to ruin it for her.

"You look like crap." she joked.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I'm here to tell the truth." He gave a half smile at her words. "So, uh..." She paused, looking at him. "Are you sure you wanna go through with this?"

Ryan frowned. "Go through with what?"

"You know, work. You look a little sick."

"I gotta go to work. It's my first day. And really, I feel fine. I little tired, but fine."

Wow. She had actually gotten him to admit he was tired. That was quite the feat.

"Well. Ok. But take some Tylenol or something, alright?"

"Yeah. Whatever."

She narrowed her eyes at him and shoved him playfully.

"Fine. Get all sick. I don't care. _I_ won't take care of you." She stuck her tongue out at him, amused when he stuck it back at her. God, he was cute when he was playful.

"I'll see you later, Theresa. Thanks for the ride." he said, getting out of the car.

"Oh, Theresa?"

"Yeah?"

"I, uh-- I gotta talk to you later."

"Uh, ok." she said, looking at him curiously.

"Well, see ya' later." said Ryan, waving and slamming the door.

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"I think we should go see him now." said Seth through a mouthful of pancake.

"Yeah, I don't."

"Why not?" Sandy had a distracting thought that he should perhaps teach Seth not to talk with his mouth full.

"Because he's probably still mad at me. I told you, we need to give him time to cool off."

"And _why_ would he be mad at you?" Sandy had almost forgotten that he hadn't told Seth about his little conversation with Ryan.

"I said some things that I guess he got mad at-- I don't know exactly why, I mean, it was the truth, but he just shut down on me."

"Dad, what exactly did you say to him?" asked Seth, concern building in his voice.

"Nothing! I mean, nothing mean or anything. I just told him I wanted him back with us. And-- and that we needed at least one of you guys here."

Seth nodded in understanding, seemingly convinced. After a few seconds he stopped nodding and looked up at his father.

"How did you say it?" he asked seriously.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, did you say it, 'Oh Ryan, kiddo, we love you _so_ much and need you _so_ much and you're _so_ important to us!'" He clasped his hands together, swooning to some imaginary object.

"Or did you say it, 'Ryan, you need to get here right now or I'm coming to get you myself and you'll be grounded!'" He pointed an accusatory finger at his father and frowned.

"I-- I didn't say I'd ground him..." said Sandy guiltily.

Seth threw his hands in the air in defeat. "Good lord, dad. You _know _Ryan doesn't react well to anger.

"I wasn't angry! I was frustrated."

Seth released a quick breath and shook his head.

"It doesn't matter to Ryan. All he heard in your tone was anger, and at that moment that was all he could process. The memory must have slipped his mind, so later on he'd just think you were angry at him, and he wouldn't be able to tell if you were angry and frustrated, or maybe tired because at that one moment, all he could tell was anger." He waved a piece of pancake in front of Sandy's face as he spoke.

"So know he's thinking that you're mad at him because he won't come back. He feels the need to stay here, n'est pas?"

Sandy nodded.

"Right. So he's staying here and now he finds out that you're mad at him."

Sandy opened his mouth to stop Seth, but Seth waggled a finger at him to stop him.

"He finds out you're _frustrated_, and he doesn't precisely know why. He has doubts and all you're doing is reinforcing those doubts, causing him to face a dilemma." Sandy frowned.

"Seth?" he asked, confused by his son's knowledge.

"What? I spent two days with absolutely nothing to do but think. Think and read." Sandy nodded in comprehension.

"So we'll give him until tomorrow to cool it, like you said, then we'll talk to him. We won't get Kirsten to phone in and talk to him though, because that'll make him think we're guilting him into coming with us." said Seth, taking a moment to drink his milkshake. He grabbed the straw and sucked on it for a whole minute, causing Sandy to give him an incredulous stare.

"What are you, pregnant, Seth? You're eating like a pig!"

Seth took the straw away from his mouth and stuck his tongue out at his father.

"Would you rather I not eat, like Princess-- like Marissa?"

"Come on now, Seth. That's not very nice."

"Yeah, well she's not very nice."

"What has she ever done to make you not like her?" asked Sandy, knowing full well that Marissa had not been the greatest influence.

"Uh, she ignored me for half my life, took Ryan away from us and insulted me in front of Summer." Sandy raised his eyebrows in shock.

"She insulted you?"

"Well, actually, I insulted her first. And she insulted me back."

"Ah, well then she defended herself."

Seth frowned, suddenly angry. "And since when have you cared more about Marissa than me?"

"It's not like that, son, I'm just saying that if you insulted her first then why shouldn't she defend herself?"

"Because I was telling the truth!" yelped Seth, attracting some stares from the customers.

"Seth, ok, I'm sorry. What did you say to her?" Seth looked down at his plate, which now contained nothing more than a few bites of pancakes.

"I said that if it wasn't for her and Oliver, then Ryan wouldn't have hooked up with Theresa and Ryan wouldn't have left. And I said-- I said that all she ever did was drag Ryan into her stupid, messed up life."

"Seth..."

"And I don't regret it. You-- you don't know everything that she did to him. Everything that she put him through."

Sandy sat back in his chair and put his hands on the table. "So enlighten me."

Seth sighed wearily. "How much time d'ya got?"

Sandy lent forward. "Son, we got all day."

Seth smirked.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Hello there, can I help you?" said Ryan, his voice making him sound like a sleep deprived homeless person. He yawned into his hand.

"Hey Ryan!" said a happy voice. Jayne's voice. He looked up. Well, she certainly had no reason to be happy, what with her bruised face and cut up cheek. She caught his stare and looked away.

"What happened?" he asked, taking the Tylenol she had in her hand and running it through the checkout.

"Nothing."

"Jayne, this is _not_ nothing. Come on, you can tell me." He looked at her pleadingly, taking the ten that she handed him.

"I know I can, just- not here. Can you meet me outside at your next coffee break?"

"Sure, of course."

She smiled and left, taking the change that Ryan gave her. He looked her over carefully, noticing that she was skinnier than she used to be. Then again, the last time he saw her was when he was fourteen. Her mother finally made something of herself and she moved away. All the way to L.A. Ryan had considered visiting her when he, Seth, and the girls had gone to Grady Bridges' birthday party, but then everything with Hailey happened, and he suddenly had other things to take care of.

"Excuse me? I'd like to pay today." said a brown haired woman, her face etched with annoyance.

"Yeah. Sorry."

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, remember when Ryan tackled Luke on the soccer field?"

Of course he did. Kirsten had been scared that he'd be taken away from him, but as Ryan had once told him, Atwood luck didn't always have to be a curse.

"Yeah, yeah I remember."

Seth looked to the side for a second and then looked back at his father.

"Well that was because he overheard Marissa making up with Luke and he thought they were back together. It all could have been avoided if Marissa had just told Ryan, but she went on lying. And _that _pissedRyan off."

Sandy nodded in understanding, watching as Seth had an epiphany.

"Ah! Remember when we had the Nana going on and Ryan was no where to be found?"

Sandy nodded, his curiosity getting a hold of him.

"Well, he was looking for Marissa because she had run off again. She was so busy whining about the fact that Luke slept with Julie that she--"

Sandy's face fell. Seth put his head in his hands.

"Oh _shit_. God, Ryan's gonna kill me. He's gonna kill me."

"Seth, repeat what you just said." said Sandy, paling considerably.

"Ryan's gonna kill me?"

"No, no, before that."

"What do you mean? I didn't say anything before that. I said Ryan tackled Luke. I- I said that Marissa was too skinny."

"No. Seth, you said that Marissa was whining about Luke sleeping with Julie. Am I correct?"

Seth nodded.

"Oh god, he could be her _son_. He's young enough to be her _son. _And she slept with him. I think I'm gonna throw up." Sandy lay his head on the table over his crossed hands, ignoring the disgusted stares of customers putting down their forks.

"That's about the same reaction I had." said Seth.

Sandy lifted his head off of the table and looked at Seth. "How many people know about this?" he asked.

Seth counted on his fingers. "Well, there's Marissa, Ryan, me, Luke, Julie, and, uh, you. So six."

Sandy shook his head in disgust. "And that's the reason Marissa ran off." Seth nodded in response. "Wow. I had absolutely no idea."

Seth nodded again. "Yeah, well it came as quite the shock to us as well. And when Marissa found out, she ran away. I told Ryan to come back and give her some time alone, but you know Ryan. He actually got that bad scratch on his elbow from trying to help her."

Sandy raised his eyebrows again. Ryan had told him that was from falling off his bike. He hated it when Ryan lied to him.

"He told me one of Eddie's goons shoved him when I asked him about it. Don't worry about it dad," he said when he caught his father's face.

"I swear, that kid is attracted to trouble." said Sandy with a sad smile.

"Dad, come on. You know that's not true. Ryan's not attracted to trouble, he's a _magnet _for it. He tries, you know he does."

Sandy nodded. "Of course I know that. Tell you what. Let's change the subject." Seth looked at his plate again. It was empty.

"You wanna talk about Luke and Julie?" he said, smiling a little as his dad shook his head violently.

"Dear lord, no."

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"Hey Ryan." Jayne was smoking a cigarette and took a long drag before throwing it on the ground and squishing it with her shoe.

"I thought you quit." said Ryan, sitting down beside her.

"Yeah, I quit a lot of things back in the day. Doesn't mean I didn't start them up again."

Ryan looked at her, confused by her confession.

"So. You wanna know how I got all beat up?" asked Jayne, staring at Ryan through equally blue eyes. Ryan looked at them. No, hers were darker than his. Sadder. They, shockingly, had been through more than his had. They had seen more than his had.

"Yeah. 'Course I wanna know."

Jayne smiled and looked at the ground. "I got in trouble with a guy because I didn't deliver."

Ryan suddenly felt ill. He wasn't sure if it was the cold drafty air or what Jayne had just said to him.

"Didn't deliver? Deliver what, Jayne?"

Jayne stayed silent, closing her eyes.

"Jayne? What didn't you deliver?"

She finally looked at him, fear in her eyes. "10 grams of coke."

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"Hey mom. How was your day?" asked Theresa, walking over to her mother and giving her a kiss on the cheek. She was packing a duffel bag full of clothes.

"What, you leaving?" she asked, only half joking.

"No, sweetie. This is for Ryan. Didn't he tell you?"

Theresa shook her head. "Tell me what?"

Eva sighed. It looked like Ryan had lost his nerve. She would have to tell Theresa for him.

"He's moving in with his mom, Dawn. He found her in the grocery store yesterday and called her today because-- because I can't afford to take care of both of you."

Theresa felt tears build in her eyes and she blinked them back, shaking her head.

"What? Mom, no, he got a job, I'm getting a job, everything's fine! We'll make enough money, don't worry. There's no need to kick him out." She knelt on the ground next to her mother, the noise of her knees cracking dismissed.

"No, Theresa. _He_ wanted to move out. And he told me not to tell the Cohens. He said he wants to end his relationship with them."

"Why?!" cried Theresa, louder than she had intended.

"Because he doesn't want to depend on them. Theresa, he'll still take care of you, don't worry. He just needs to be alone, away from the Cohens. He explained it all to me, and although I don't agree, I respect his choice. You need to do the same."

Theresa sat down on the ground. "You're not going to tell the Cohens, are you Theresa? Because that would betray Ryan's trust in you, and lord only knows that poor boy needs someone to trust."

"He _has_ someone to trust! He has the Cohens. He loves the Cohens."

"He can't be with the Cohens right now, Theresa. And he can't be with us. Just let him go. I'm sure it'll only be for a few months, if not weeks."

Theresa nodded slowly, taking in the information. "I'll be in my room." she said quietly, using her hands to stand up and walk away.

Ryan was leaving her. She had asked for it, of course, but it still hurt. She asked him to go live with the Cohens, not with his no good mother. She asked him to be happy, not stupid. But Ryan had always been lured by women like his mother. Theresa had actually been surprised when Ryan kissed her that first time. She was different from his other "friends". She wasn't an alcoholic, she hadn't done many drugs in her lifetime, and she had a loving family.

Theresa had always known why Ryan was so drawn to Marissa. Marissa was just another damsel in distress, and although at this moment, Theresa was one as well, she simply found it annoying how needy Ryan's girlfriend was. Ryan had told her all about Oliver and Luke. Not only was the girl dependant, but she was stupid. Even Theresa had figured it out at the beginning that Oliver must have been bad news, and Theresa hadn't exactly gotten straight A's, nor was she the sharpest crayon in the box.

Then again, she guessed all the fat had been sucked out of Marissa's brain, making her slightly stupider than the average damsel. She scolded herself for being so bitter, but took it back when she thought about the skinny bitch. As long as no one knew her thoughts, she didn't have to take them back, did she?

--------------------------Flashback-------------------------------------

Chris Murray looked at the bills in front of him on the desk. Light, electric, and that little boy's medical bill. His wife came up behind him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "How goes it, sweetie?"

"Great." he said, smiling at her.

"Do you mind if I look at Ryan's medical bill?" she asked, pointing to the open envelope. He shrugged, handing it to her.

She sneered at it. "He fell down the stairs? And fell out of a tree? God, this is ridiculous." She threw it back down on the desk and sat next to her husband.

"Hey, the tree one actually happened. There were witnesses." He looked over his glasses at his wife, who shook her head.

"So not only is he getting beaten, but he's accident prone? That poor kid is gonna die before the age of fifteen."

Her husband looked at her and touched her hand delicately. "Honey, don't say that."

"Did he come by the library today?" he asked after a long pause.

"Yeah. He came to return that book about Astronomy. Such a smart kid."

"I know."

"It's really a shame that an intelligent child like him has to go through all this crap."

Chris looked down at the table, focusing on the grain of the wood. But the words flew at him. "Bruised ribs". Every month it was a different one. "Bruised collarbone" once, "broken arm" the next time. It really pulled at his heart because the only thing he could do to help was pay for the damn bills.

"We have some books down at the library that we don't need anymore. I think I'll give them to him the next time he comes over."

Chris nodded. "That's nice, dear."

"Look at this." she said, pulling out a ratty sketch book from her purse and laying it in front of him. "He lent it me because I saw him drawing in the library. I told him I'd give it back to him the next time he came."

Chris opened it and stared at the beautiful drawings. A rose etched perfectly, and surrounded by what he assumed was pain and suffering. All around the flower was grey, swirling emptiness.

He flipped the page, intrigued. A tree. A simple, yet captivating drawing that filled his mind with ideas. He noted that beside the tree there was a boy sitting down, his head lowered and his hair falling over his face.

He flipped the page. A crudely drawn picture of a woman with long, curly hair. She was actually quite stunning. He guessed the drawing was made after Ryan's arm was broken, because it looked unbalanced, as though it had shifted around while being drawn. He was unexpectedly glad that Ryan had broken his left arm and not his right. It would have been a shame if he was denied his passion. He frowned.

Maybe art wasn't his passion. Maybe cooking was. The boy knew how to make anything from any cookbook, and even though he didn't always have all the right ingredients, his wife Kelly told him that everything he made tasted wonderful.

He was so glad that Ryan had someone to trust in. Especially since that someone was his wife. What he felt for this kid wasn't pity. It was more than that. It was a task he needed to fulfill. He felt it was his duty to help this poor kid. He didn't know exactly why, but it seemed to take over him.

He flipped the page. This was going to take all night...

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Damn. That was long. Oh well. I'll update soon, and don't forget to tell me what you think, people! I love hearing what you think!


	8. Blood Stains

Ok. I've decided, with the help of some of the persuasion powers of some people,that I will make this longer than I had originally intended. I re-wrote my plot plan and everything! Everything's been sorted, and the angst will be given to you by carton fulls. Thank you for the therapy from **NaijaChiqa**, **muchtvs**, **Joey51**, **storymom**, and all the other kind people who thought nice things about my story and defended me against my first flamer. It really does lower the self esteem, which is why I sort of tried to stay away from writing this for a little while. Well, enough with my whining. Here it is, hope you like it.

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"Jayne? You're-- you're back on drugs?" questioned Ryan, looking over at his troubled friend.

"No! No, I mean, I'm selling, and when you sell you have to take a couple of hits, you know. I mean, Ryan, what am I supposed to do? My mom ditched me, and I had no place to go, so I went back to the old life." Jayne paused and sighed.

"Jayne..." said Ryan, closing his eyes.

"I know, I know, I told you I quit, but you of all people should know how hard it is."

"I never did drugs like you did." Ryan opened his eyes and stared at Jayne. She scoffed at him and gave a half smile.

"Yeah. You keep tellin' yourself that." she said, causing Ryan to look away, his jaw tight.

"I did pot." he murmured, "You did coke and heroin. They're very different."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"So when were you supposed to deliver?" asked Ryan, looking at his shoes. They were already getting torn here in Chino, while in Newport they had seemed shiny and new. Kirsten had gotten them for his birthday, along with hundreds of dollars worth of clothes, a cell phone, and money which he didn't accept. The Cohens had put the money in his "college" account, which they all knew was for aesthetic purposes only, so Ryan could put his well earned money in it and feel that he was earning his keep. He made them swear they wouldn't tell him the password so that he could never take any money out. He somewhat regretted his pride now.

"Two weeks ago." Jayne sighed. "I-- I took a hit, just to remember what being high felt like, and I just-- I couldn't stop taking it. I finally finished it and they found out. They weren't too happy about it." She pointed at herself, smiling despite the pain.

"Jayne..." said Ryan scoldingly, but his friend cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't need another lecture, especially not from you."

"Ok! I'm not sayin' anything. Jesus. I was just trying to ask if you needed anything."

"Of course I need something, Ryan. Why else would I even talk to you?" she sneered sarcastically. "Come on, Ryan, not everyone talks to you because you can be their hero."

It was funny to Ryan, since that was basically the _only_ reason a lot of girls talked to him. Or had sex with him. He sighed.

"So what are you gonna do?" he asked, concern flooding his voice. Her tantrum was immediately forgiven.

"I don't know. I'll find it somewhere. I'll call in some favors." she said, tears starting to stain her cheeks.

"No. No, you know what? I'll see what I can do. We'll fix this. Don't worry Jayne."

Ryan never could stand to see girls cry.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Ma! It's me!" yelled Ryan into the old house. The sound of the fuzzy television could be heard from far away, and a bulky looming figure sat in the sagging recliner, beer in hand.

"Marco, turn the damn thing off. My baby's home!"

Footsteps were heard running out of the creaky room echoed through the house, and a few seconds later, a woman appeared, curls fried with products, to hug her son.

"Aw, sweetie, I missed you so much..." Her nails accidentally dug into Ryan's back, and he held back a grimace.

"Who are you?" she asked suddenly, roughly letting go of Ryan.

"Mom, you remember my old friend, Jayne? She-- I was wondering if maybe she could stay here for a day or two."

Dawn glared at the thin girl standing in her hallway. "Ryan, I said _you_ could stay here, not your hoes."

Jayne moved back a step in shock. "Mom, don't talk to her like that." Ryan's eyes gleamed dangerously for a second as he looked down at his mother. She glowered at him.

"I don't want _that_ in my house." she hissed. Jayne bowed her head. Marco didn't move from his spot on the couch.

"Mom, don't--"

"Ryan, it's ok. I have a friend's I can go to. Don't worry about it." Ryan flipped around to look at her.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice soft and meek.

"Yeah, Ryan, I'm sure. I'm sorry Mrs. Atwood-- if I caused any problems."

Dawn nodded dismissively. "Bye Ryan. I'll call you tomorrow." she said, kissing him gently on the cheek and smiling. Even in a place like Chino, Ryan still smelled sweet, like innocence. He was far from innocent, and she knew it, but he had that look in his eyes, that small gleam of hope that shone from inside of him that made it seem like everything was going to be ok.

"Bye Jayne." he whispered in her ear.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Go to bed, kid." said Marco, kicking the recliner. It spun halfway around and Ryan sat up quickly, not wanting to disobey the boxy man.

"Goodnight." said Ryan, watching as Marco grunted in response and took the remote control.

Ryan closed the door to his new room and swore silently. He had forgotten his clothes at Theresa's. He'd have to go down there tomorrow and get them, and then he'd have to face Theresa, who'd no doubt kick his ass.

Tomorrow was going to be a long ass day.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you mad at him, son?" asked Sandy, who was on the other small bed beside his son.

"What?" asked Seth groggily, turning to his side to look at his father.

"Are you mad at Ryan?"

"For leaving?"

"Yeah."

Seth sighed wearily, including a yawn into the mix. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

Yes, sort of. Of course Seth was mad at him, but how could he find a way to _stay_ mad at him? He wanted to strangle the kid for leaving him. He wanted to tell him that he was a punk, and a traitor at that. He had left his best friend friendless, so to speak, and for that Seth would never really forgive him.

But it was hard to stay mad at Ryan. Ryan was, well, Ryan. He was nice, loyal, and would do anything for Seth. He had befriended him without any protestation about his geekiness, and had accepted his flaws, numerous as they were, with ease.

"No, actually. Not really. It's hard to stay pissed at him. You?"

"Same."

Sandy _was_ somewhat mad at Ryan, but what he felt more than anger was concern. It was like that time Seth convinced Ryan to ride on a chair into the pool. Seth told Sandy everything, although it did take some grilling. Apparently, Seth was very bored that Sunday, and his boredom had ended up giving Ryan a concussion when he hit his head on the wall.

What he had felt was mostly distress at Ryan's pale face and banged up head that day. The faint trace of anger lay hidden beneath his calm and collected exterior. He had been angry that Ryan had agreed to do something so stupid, but his concern had washed over the anger, as it always had and probably always would.

"I think we should give him some space." said Sandy with a sigh. "I mean, he's still mad at me, and I'm the one who was stupid enough to bother him like that."

"Come on dad, that wasn't your fault--" Seth turned around to look at his father, who was staring up at the ceiling.

"Yes. Yes it was. I should've sent you to talk to him. He's always talked more with you." There was a trail of envy in his voice that Seth hadn't heard in ages, and it lingered in the air like an unwanted guest.

"No, dad. He doesn't talk that much to me. At least not anymore." Sandy glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye.

"What do you mean?" The jealousy had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and was replaced by interest.

"I mean that ever since the Oliver fiasco, Ryan doesn't trust me as much." He paused, gesturing with his hands. "It's like Ryan's faith is as thin as ice, and I went and stomped on it." His voice cracked.

"Seth, it's ok, son. We all did that. We failed him when he needed us most. But that's all in the past. Don't worry about it."

"How am I-- how am I supposed to put it in the past?" asked Seth, suddenly at a loss for words. "It always-- it haunts me, dad. Whenever Ryan won't talk to me for whatever reason, I always think it's because I didn't believe in him. When you and mom told me that he was gonna stay with us, I _knew_ that I would always try have his back, because he always had mine. I promised myself, dad. I told myself that no matter what, we'd _always_ be friends."

"Seth, just because you didn't believe him doesn't mean that you weren't a friend."

"I know. I know, but, do you ever think that maybe part of the reason he left was because of us? Do you ever think that maybe, deep down, he really doesn't wanna be with us?"

Sandy took a deep breath and held it.

"I can't allow myself to think that."

"Why not?"

"Because that wouldn't be our Ryan. Our Ryan loves us even if he can't say it. Our Ryan is exactly that. He's _our_ Ryan. And if he doesn't want to be our Ryan then I don't know what I'm going to do." There was no anger in his voice, no worry. He was just stating facts.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"As strange as this may sound, that actually made sense to me." said Seth, now staring up at the ceiling with a look of comprehension glued onto his face.

"Well that's a new one." said Sandy with a sigh. "Goodnight, son."

"Goodnight."

-------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was now shining brightly, but even though it was quite hot out, grey clouds dragged in the sky like teenagers not wanting to go to school. A slight breeze shook Ryan to his very center, and made him feel queasy. He regretted not bringing his sweatshirt, but he sure as hell didn't want to go back in the house and face Marco, who was already in a foul mood because Dawn had eaten his food.

Ryan had told him that he ate it, and he had pointed a stubby finger at him and said that he was going to buy him more bread. Ryan had nodded, annoyed, and walked out the door with the keys to the Oldsmobile.

Five minutes later he was at Theresa's house. Ryan knocked lightly on the door.

"Ryan! Sweetie, how are you?" asked Pilar, beckoning him to follow her into the house.

"I'm fine, thanks... you?"

"I'm fine. Theresa isn't here right now. She went to an interview at that old restaurant we used to go to. Remember?"

Ryan nodded sheepishly and looked at the ground.

"So, did you come to pick up your stuff?"

Ryan nodded again, looking at Pilar's creased face and smiling.

"Well I've got it all here, dear. There you go." He took the duffel bag and the backpack from her and said a quick thank you.

"Could you tell Theresa that I'm sorry I couldn't tell her myself? I-- I waited for her at the grocery store but she never came so I got a ride with a friend." He had already guessed that Pilar had told Theresa herself, and though it had bothered him at first, he had easily forgiven her.

"Yes, Ryan. I'll tell her. I'm sorry I had to tell her myself. She came in when I wasn't expecting her, and I was packing your bags for you, so I had to explain it to her. You forgive me, mi hijito?"

Ryan nodded and accepted the hug she gave him.

"Well, I'll see you later, Pilar." he said, turning to go.

"Bye, dear."

Ryan stepped outside and sat on the curb. He had to call Jayne so she could come over. He had almost forgotten the broken cell phone that lay in pieces on the ground.

Just like his heart.

He had driven his mother's Oldsmobile to Theresa's, and Marco had told him to get gas. Why, exactly, Ryan didn't know. The man didn't leave his couch. But he would never tell him that. He wasn't stupid. Saying that would get him his ass kicked, and he didn't need that right now.

Thank god it was the weekend.

Weekends brought back painful memories. Not the kind of painful because they were bad, but a different kind of painful. They hurt because of how good they were. In some ways, they were worse than the bad memories because he wanted these. He wanted them more than anything in the world, but he needed his independence. He wouldn't depend on the Cohens anymore. They didn't deserve a burden like him.

Ryan rested his head on his knees. He really should be getting back to Dawn's place. Theresa would be home soon, and he didn't want her to find him sitting on her veranda so late at night.

She might think he was a wacko.

Never in his life had Ryan needed a cigarette more.

It was this urge, tugging at him. He craved one so badly that it hurt. He found it funny how the entire time he spent in Newport he had only smoked one cigarette, and that was the night that he got there. He threw the rest of them out around three months later, when he accepted the fact that people actually cared about him. It was as though Newport had cleansed him, made him a better person in a way. But now he was back to his old self.

Now he was impure again.

Arturo kept a stash here. Ryan knew he did. Once, after Arturo had come home from school, he handed Ryan a whole bunch of tools and told they'd made a hiding spot together. Ryan was ten. He hadn't exactly known what it was for, but his brother hadn't made anything like that, or at least he hadn't told Ryan about it, and Arturo was doing just that. He was being a brother for no particular reason.

Ryan remembered handing him the saw as he looked around anxiously to see if anyone was watching. Later on during the night, Arturo had told Ryan what the compartment held.

Pot. Cigarettes. Booze. The occasional condom, just in case.

Ryan glanced around to see if anyone was looking and knocked on the wood near the steps. He heard something hollow and looked up again. The coast was clear, so he slid the piece of wood that he remembered so well to the right and reached inside, keeping a wary eye out for passers by.

There was still a pack of cigarettes inside, covered in dust and leaning against the side of the dirt wall, unused. Unwanted. Ryan chuckled to himself as he saw the half empty bag of marijuana. There was no time for the cigs, not when you had pot to keep you busy. They were disregarded and neglected.

Ryan picked the pack up, handling it like some precious object, and slid the trap door closed. He got up, looked from left to right, got the keys out of his pocket and walked over to the car silently. The car whined and protested when Ryan started it, and he flinched in subtle anger. He checked his wallet to see if he had anything in it, happily surprised when he found three twenties.

He slipped a cigarette into his mouth. Simple pleasure. Ryan let one hand wander into his pocket to find his lighter, while he carefully maneuvered through the non-existent traffic.

The tip flared and instantly turned orange. Ryan took a puff of its merciful poison, momentarily forgetting about his mother, Marco, Theresa, and the Cohens. For those few seconds before he blew out the smoke, he was toxic, and it didn't matter.

Suddenly, Ryan coughed out the poison.

His precious poison.

Ryan put the cigarette out on his jeans, not caring if it left a mark. He cursed himself for being a pussy. Newport hadn't made him pure, it had made him weak.

Weak was something he couldn't be anymore.

Parking the car on an abandoned street, Ryan lit up his cigarette again. He'd get used to this poison violating his soul.

Just like he'd get used to smoking again.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Seth yawned and got up, noticing that his hair was covering his face.

A few days without mousse and his hair had turned into a mop. And not even a nice mop at that. It was a big, curly, black mop that covered his eyes and half of his nose.

"Dad! Could you go down to some store and buy me some product? My hair is frizzing out in these cold and humid conditions. It's no good. Dad? Dad! Earth to dad... your son is having an emergency here."

Sandy Cohen was busy staring intently out the window, as though expecting Ryan to walk past.

"DAD!" yelled Seth, tilting his head back so that he could see his father.

"Yeah?" said Sandy, finally snapping out of the trance that had held him like a siren's song.

"I need product. For my mop. Can you go get some at the corner store for me? I don't wanna be seen in public with this."

"I wonder how you would have handled your mop alone on a raft."

"I would have grown a full grown 'fro. That's what I would have done. Jeez. It's the logicallistic thing to do." He wrapped curls tightly around his finger and struck a pose, causing his father to laugh a sincere laugh for the first time in a week.

"Ok, Seth. I'll go get you some mousse and you stay here and call your mother. She'll want to know that we're not in Cambodia or something."

Seth looked at his father incredulously. "Dad, Cambodia? What are you, eighty?"

Sandy just looked at him, more confused than he had ever been, and closed the door.

Seth picked up the phone, dialing his mother's number.

"Hey, mommy dearest!"

"Seth, being overtly nice to me won't change the fact that when you get back you're going to be grounded forever." replied Kirsten cynically.

"Really? Well that's too bad. Dad wanted me to call to check in. So, I'm checking in. Aren't I just the sweetest little--"

"Seth. Shut up."

"Ok."

There was a short pause while Kirsten sighed. "Have you gotten a chance to talk to Ryan?"

Another pause. "No. Not yet. We're trying to give him time. That's what dad says he needs."

Kirsten stifled a sob but not the small whimper that escaped her glossed lips.

"Oh. Well. You guys stay as long as you need to. I mean, I want you to come back soon, but not without Ryan. Be careful."

"Ok mom. Don't worry, we'll be home soon. With Ryan. I promise you."

Seth doubted his promise as much as Kirsten did, but none of them would ever say so. They preferred to live in their own little fantasy land, where everything was ok all the time. Seth was so used to living there that it came as second nature to him.

-------------------------Flashback------------------------

Ryan was bored. Not just bored, but ridiculously bored. Sundays were the worst. It was summer, so he had no homework to do, and no one to hang out with. Not even his ladies.

Theresa was at church, Jayne was busy helping her mom clean houses, and Trey... well, Trey was busy.

Ryan looked up to see his brother squishing caterpillars he had stuffed in a jar. Trey looked at Ryan and scowled. The small boy twitched his nose in disgust and looked at the hot, dry cement in front of him.

It seemed to move and shine in the intense summer heat. Ryan stared at it, watching shapes seep through and disappear within a few seconds. The shapes got darker, and Ryan looked up to see his big brother standing above him, that same scowl on his face.

"What'ya doing, little bro?" he asked innocently, the scowl almost completely vanishing within a matter of seconds.

"Nothin'." replied Ryan, naturally suspicious of his brothers' interest in his life.

"Oh. Ok. Well, do you mind if I sit down?" Ryan hated it how his brother made his last two words into one. He patted the cement and kept his head down.

"Cool." said Trey, sitting down. He was wearing big, heavy jeans with a chain attached to them, and a bulky black muscle-tee that was much too big for him. His reddish-brown hair shimmered in the sunlight, and he squinted, as though looking for vermin to kill.

"So... is that one new?" asked Trey, grabbing Ryan's wrist and looking at the ugly purple mark on it.

Ryan pulled his wrist away and cradled it with his other hand. He looked at his brother and narrowed his eyes angrily.

"Yeah. So?"

Trey leaned back and made a face. He raised his hands up and whistled scoffingly.

"What? I was just wondering, is all."

Ryan continued to stare at him, eyeing him from greasy head to dirty, bug covered shoes.

Trey started fiddling with his leather wrist cuff, trying to take it off.

"Piece of shit..." he whispered, and Ryan winced subconsciously.

_You worthless piece of shit. You're nothing to me..._

"Bro'? Little brother? Ryan!" said Trey, smacking his brother lightly on the head.

"What?" asked Ryan, indignant.

"Here." Trey handed Ryan the brand new wrist-cuff he had gotten for his 15th birthday.

Ryan opened his mouth to say something, but was left at a loss for words all of a sudden. "What are you doing?" he asked, not taking the shiny leather band from his brothers' grubby hands.

"What the hell d'ya think I'm doing, dumbass? Take it." he said, roughly grabbing Ryan's hand and prying it open, despite Ryan's silent protest.

"It'll cover _that_ up perfectly. And no one will have to know he hurt you. 'Cause kid, no one needs to know." He ended his sentence with a knowing wink and click of his tongue.

Ryan grinned at him and let him put it on his wrist. He slapped Ryan playfully across the face with his own, now leather wrist-cuffed hand, and delighted in his yelps of laughter that hadn't been heard in much too long when he gave him a nudgie. They started play-fighting, and Trey won, as he always had.

They sat under the big, rotting tree afterwards, out of breath and happy.

"Hey kid?" Trey asked gruffly, slapping shoulders with the smaller boy.

"Yeah?" said Ryan, staring admiringly at his new wrist-cuff.

"How 'bout you and me, we go out," said Trey, smirking schemingly, "hook up with some... friends of mine?"

Ryan nodded bashfully, standing up and dusting off his pants. His white tank top had gotten a little stained with dirt from play-fighting with his brother, and he picked at it to get it clean. All his work was in vain, since dirt was always his second least favorite stain to remove because of its persistence to stay stuck to his clothes.

Blood was his least favorite.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Ryan! Come here, buddy." said Trey with only the slightest of slurs, holding a can of beer up and beckoning his brother with one shaky hand.

Ryan obeyed, steering clear of the drunk girls who sneered at him.

"Go to hell, shorty!" said the blonde one, and Ryan ignored her. He had seen her when he first walked in. She had bleached blonde hair, and her dark roots were showing. She had given up on covering the bags under her eyes with make-up. Her denim skirt was low and short, and her stomach was showing below her tube top.

"Why don't you go build a house with a midget!" screamed the blonde one's friend. Ryan looked at her curiously out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were bloodshot and dilated. She had obviously mixed up her drugs. Ryan shrugged their comments off and went over to his brother.

One of his arms was over a girl chewing gum, and the other was over one with fish net stockings and a short skirt.

"Little bro', these are some friends of friends. Tanita, Shaylene, Melissa, Cassie, and Megan." Cassie and Megan were latched onto his arms, and had no intention of letting him go.

"How old are you, kid?" asked Tanita. Ryan waited before answering her. She looked about 14, with long, wavy hair. She was wearing jeans and a simple blouse.

"Thirteen." said Ryan. He was only a bit shorter than her, since she was wearing flats. The other girls were giants with their four inch heels.

Trey smiled at the exchange between the two and dropped his arms from the two girls. He pulled Ryan, who was blushing furiously, out of the room and opened his wallet.

"Here, kid. Take these."

Trey handed him a packet of condoms and winked. "Tanita likes you, so go for it." he said.

Ryan frowned. "I'm thirteen." he said skeptically.

Trey shrugged. "So what. I was twelve. Go." He pushed him out of the room with the condoms, and Ryan shoved them in his pocket quickly. He walked over to Tanita and smiled, suddenly glad for the wisdom of his big brother.

"There's another room behind the bathroom. Here, I found the key." whispered Trey, tapping Ryan on the shoulder and handing him the tarnished key.

Yes, Ryan loved his brother.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Ryan woke up the next morning with a barely there hangover and lipstick marks all over his face. He still didn't quite understand why a girl like Tanita would like him. She was beautiful, sweet, and from what he could tell, smart.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Quickly, he got dressed, realizing that he was definitely not in his own bed. Tanita was gone, but she had written her phone number and a scribbled note on his arm.

Ryan snuck out the back door before any of the home owners could notice he was there.

He could tell by the scattered sleeping bodies that no one would notice anyways. It was strangely comforting to think that they might.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey kid!" yelled Trey when he heard the door open, "Or should I say little man?"

Ryan appeared in the living room and grinned. "Take a wild guess." he said.

His brother lifted a hand to high five him. "Good for you, man. You'll get better at it, just do it again. That's how I learned." He winked.

"Oh. And some chick stopped by to give you this." he added, handing Ryan an empty sketchbook. Ryan smiled, and suddenly felt his heart seize within him, filled with emotions he couldn't handle.

"Ok. Thanks." He sat on his bed and kicked the door shut. Gently, he tore the plastic of his new sketchbook. He tenderly opened it, flipping through the hundreds of blank pages. The fresh air that rose up to his nose smelled like new paper and love. He grabbed the pencils he had under his bed, made sure the door was locked, and sat on his belly on the rough carpet.

It scratched his stomach, and he didn't care. These had been one of the best few days of his life, and a scrape on his stomach wasn't going to change that. He moved his new sketchbook to the left, and saw a dark small stain on the grey carpet.

Blood.

He almost stood up to clean it, make it disappear, but decided against it. Instead, he moved the sketchbook back to where it was and covered the blood stain. That stain was in his past, and this sketchbook, this was his future.

-------------------------Flashback------------------------

Sorry if ten grams of coke doesn't seem like too much, because I just watched Pulp Fiction, and Vincent said something about three grams just as a tester, but it was heroin. I don't know a lot about drugs (thankfully), but if anyone thinks it's not a lot and doesn't fit in with how much trouble Jayne's in, just tell me and I'll change it. So there are a few small details about Ryan and Trey that contrast, I wanna see if anyone finds them all. Sorry about any spelling errors, except, of course, "logicallistic", which is my own little word that I used randomly.


	9. A First Kiss

Ok. I'm bored. No one is posting on TWOP, and it's annoying me. Oh well. Instead of lounging around without doing anything or watching TV, I'll give you the next chapter of this. Yay!

-------------------------------------------------------

A knock at the car window startled Ryan. The cigarette popped out of his mouth and onto his hand, and he grimaced as the red hot venom pierced through his skin, leaving a small, red indent.

Ryan picked up the offending cigarette and put it in the car compartment, trying to look out of the smoky window to see who was there. There was no way in hell he was going to roll it down unless he knew who it was. He knew he was paranoid, and there was a big chance that there wasn't a crazy, coked up homeless person waiting outside to bash his head in with a stolen baseball bat, and that said homeless person probably wouldn't steal his car and throw him in a lake.

It was still better to be safe than sorry.

"Who is it?" he asked hoarsely, his voice a low and menacing growl. The cigarettes were starting to take their toll. He had smoked only a few in a matter of hours, taking the smoke into his lungs slowly and painstakingly, keeping it there for as long as he could.

It was a game he and Trey used to play when he was fifteen and Trey seventeen. Once, their mother told them to stay out of the house for a few days because she had business to attend to. She sent them to a friend's with two packs of cigs and twenty dollars.

Trey and Ryan had been ecstatic.

They spent hours smoking the cigarettes. They tried to make them last, so Trey came up with a game. You had to inhale as much as you could and hold it for as long as you could. When you won you got another cigarette. Ryan remembered the first time he won. The first few seconds, when the smoke had felt good in his lungs.

The next few seconds, when it had started to feel like the toxins were peeling at his insides.

After thirty seconds, he had started to see black spots in front of his eyes. Instead of blowing out the smoke which was leisurely trying to kill him, Ryan made another game of it. He pretended the black spots were pictures, and he tried to guess what they were until they covered more than three quarters of his line of vision.

Ryan vividly remembered Trey shoving him in the stomach. It caused him to cough out the smoke, which floated into the air, looking for its next victim.

Ryan recalled Trey handing him another cigarette, patting his back while he coughed harshly, and telling him he was a good kid.

Ryan didn't think so.

"It's me." said a girl, her voice almost as rough as his.

Jayne.

In a world of hate and drugs and sex, Jayne had been his partner in crime. They acted like Theresa was part of the duo, but they both knew that Theresa was a different kind of girl. Theresa had a nice childhood, with food and health. The only men that she had allowed into her life treated her with the utmost respect and kindness.

That was, of course, besides Eddie.

Eddie was a terrible drunk. Ryan knew it, and he had always known it. He had been victim to his delusional fists more than once at parties or at his house when they hung out, but he never thought that Eddie might hit a girl. He had always thought that it wasn't his style.

Eddie had a loving mother who gave him what he wanted when she could, and he hadn't dealt with much abuse, besides the occasional beating from some punk who thought Eddie was being disrespectful. His father had run out on them when Eddie was five, so he didn't much memory of what was no doubt an unhappy marriage. Perhaps nature had overcome nurture, but Ryan hadn't thought much about it before now.

Later on, Ryan felt bad for Eddie, because his mother became a drunk and his siblings followed her example. He had to support his family all by himself.

No matter what type of childhood Eddie had, that didn't change the fact that he hit Theresa. He laid his hands on a girl.

Jayne was different from Theresa in many ways. She was a hardass, while Theresa was a rebel. There was a big difference.

Theresa didn't like her life because she didn't have much money and was doing bad in school, or because she got in trouble with her parents when they caught her getting felt up by Ricki from their grade seven class.

Jayne hated her life because her mother's boyfriends hit her when her mom was high or harassed her and sexually abused her when her mom was unconscious or working. She hated her life because there were drugs all around the house and the smell made her want to vomit, just to have something else to think about. She hated her life because she had no money, and because she didn't even bother going to school anymore. Instead, she hung out with Ryan all day and smoked pot.

Theresa was a girl. Jayne was a woman.

Ryan rubbed his hand against the smoky window, watching as it tried to claw its way through the glass and find its way to outside air. Even the smoke was trying to escape him.

He rolled down the window and let the smoke drift out into the open air.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked, his voice still raspy. It scratched his throat like rough sandpaper and he gulped.

"I recognized the license plate." she said, resting her elbows on the frame of the car window.

"You're good." he said, pointing his hateful poison stick at her.

"I thought you quit." she said playfully, taking it from him.

"Funny."

"I know."

Ryan looked at her. She looked at him. Their eyes connected, and they both looked into sad blue seas. Ryan blinked and looked away.

"You, uh, wanna go somewhere?" he asked.

She nodded and went around the car as Ryan started it. Jayne slammed the door just to make Ryan cringe, and he glared at her.

"Yeah, no. I wanna sit here. With you." she said, moving his hair to the side with her long fingers. He looked to the left and then looked at her, giving a sad smile.

"Have you talked to them?" he asked, his voice still a little gruff.

Jayne nodded. "They gave me another month. I just gotta have a few hundred extra for the trouble I put 'em through." she said, looking down in embarrassment.

"Wow. That's pretty... nice of them." he said, suspicious.

"Yeah, well, I sort of had to... do something-- to, you know..."

Ryan frowned for a second, then Jayne saw his face change to comprehension.

"Oh god, Jayne." Ryan lowered his voice to a whisper and closed his eyes. He opened them after a few seconds when he saw the image of Jayne all alone, prostituting herself for an extension on her drug delivery.

He felt her cold and lifeless hand touch his cheek, and it sent a soft shiver down his back. "It's ok, Ryan. It doesn't matter to me. All that matters is that I have a chance to get out of here. I'll pack my stuff and leave."

Ryan's eyes bugged out. "Excuse me?" he said, moving away from her.

"I'm-- I'm moving away, you know, so they won't find me..." she said, shocked at his sudden change in demeanor.

"No. No, Jayne, don't do that. _Please_ don't do that." His desperate eyes met hers for a few seconds as he put his hand on her shoulder.

She shook it away. "Why not?" she asked.

"Because that makes things worse. Believe me, it does. I-- I know it-- just don't." he said, and his mouth stayed open even though he wasn't making any sounds.

"Ryan, come on. They won't kill me or anything." she said jokingly, but her eyes contradicted her words.

"Oh yeah?" he said, anger hanging from his statement. "I bet you they'd send the same guy who did _this_," he pointed at her face, "and they _would_ kill you." He got closer to her, sharing her nervous breath. "They have special guys, Jayne. The guys who don't care about screams. They have the ones that are immune to the pain. I know. You _know_ I know." His eyes filled with angry tears.

Scars were memories. They were painful memories, but memories nonetheless. Ryan was filled with memories. They poured into him as though he were a cup, and he was filled to the top.

He was swimming in them.

When Ryan was sixteen, A.J. sent him to drop off a delivery of cocaine. Ryan had immediately been suspicious. Although nothing had happened to him, the screams and whines of pain coming from alley that he dropped it off at had been enough to unsettle the veil of tranquillity that Ryan had established from years of learning. He had peeked one of the walls to see a woman getting killed by a man with a buzz cut and an unsympathetic look on his scarred face. It had taken all of Ryan's resolve not to bust into the room and help her. He knew what would happen if he did.

He wouldn't be able to stand Jayne going through something like that. It would be a blunt sword to the heart.

Intolerable pain.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Hey dad." said Seth when he heard the jangle of keys. "Thanks." he added as the brown bottle of mousse was deposited in his hands.

He ran to the bathroom, inclined his head into the sink, and soaked his hair with the fresh, cold water. He flipped his head back, and a line of water flew into the air similar to the red droplets of blood that flew from his sword when he played the ninja game.

He shook the bottle and squeezed out a quarter sized dollop of mousse. He spread it on his hair and grabbed a rotten looking comb from one of the cupboards, running it through his curly black mop.

"Seth?" asked his father, and Seth sighed in agitation. Moussing took the utmost in concentration.

"Yes, dad?" he asked, trying-- and failing, to keep the annoyance from his tone.

"Nothing... Just wanted to make sure you were still in there..." replied his father. God, he sounded pathetic. Seth looked over to his right and noticed a large window in the corner of the room.

Easy to crawl out of.

He rolled his eyes sadly. His father's trust wasn't like Ryan's. It wasn't thin like ice on a not so cold morning. It was plywood, glued together by memories and happiness. Sure, some of those pieces of plywood had mysteriously disintegrated after Tijuana. They had been rebuilt just as strongly afterwards, when they found out Ryan was right about Oliver.

Then Ryan left. The plywood was split in half, and it splintered at the corners like Sandy's broken heart. And here was the kicker.

Seth left as well. He stole that well earned, splintered piece of plywood and he yanked it from his father's tear stained hands.

And now Sandy thought that Seth hated him so much that he'd crawl out of a rusting, gnarly looking window just to get away from him. Disgusting, incestuous relationship talk and joking put aside, the two Cohens weren't that well off. Deep down, Sandy was angry at Seth, and now they both knew it.

That was why Sandy was being so stupid around Ryan. He didn't know whether to be angry or guilty, and it was clouding his judgement.

He was lost on a raft in the middle of the ocean.

But Seth would fix that. He was Seth Cohen. He had successfully made himself 100% more popular in one year. He could do anything.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Where the fuck have you been?"

Not exactly the greatest welcome compared to the ones he got in Newport.

_"Oh, sweetie, where were you? We were starting to get worried..."_

Ryan dismissed the distracting thoughts from his mind and closed the door gently.

"I refilled the tank and bought you your damn bread, so what do you care?" he spat, tossing the bag of bread in Marco's lap and turning around to storm into his room. Marco got up and squeezed Ryan's arm in one swift motion, letting the bread fall to the ground. Ryan glanced at it before looking up at Marco.

"You respect your elders, you got that, pretty boy?" hissed Marco, squeezing Ryan's arm tighter.

"Let me go." snarled Ryan, looking directly into Marco's eyes. He saw straight through the tainted green and into his head. He was in a pissy mood, and he really shouldn't have messed with him. All he was doing was getting himself into more trouble. Hell, Ryan was in a pissy mood too, and nobody here was questioning him about how _he_ felt, so why should he care about what Marco felt was respectful?

Ryan shook himself free of Marco's loosening grip and decided against rubbing his sore arm.

"Your ma's mad at you. She says you ran off and abandoned her," Ryan laughed at that. "And she says that she was scared you'd run off again."

Ryan snorted scornfully. "You're a disrespectful little smartass, you know that?" said Marco, his eyes flashing angrily.

"And you're a no good shit who sits in his fucking chair all day doing nothing."

Oops.

Ryan blinked, expecting the worse.

Marco pointed his finger at him, angry and threatening. He grabbed his hair, but Ryan didn't flinch. He was in a very vulnerable position, but he tried to look unaffected. The fact that Marco had him by the hair was making him nervous, and he looked from side to side quickly to see if there were any near walls that his head could be smashed into. Luckily, they were in the middle of the room. Ryan's heart was beating fast, like that time when he was six and he jumped from his friend's trampoline into a tree.

He was afraid that his fear might show in his eyes, but he took a risk and retained eye contact.

The finger-- surprisingly-- did not turn into a fist. It kept on shaking in Ryan's direction. "You gotta learn how to treat your betters, kid." spat Marco, pulling Ryan's hair back but letting go after a few seconds. Ryan's breathing steadied following several shaky breaths. Marco turned around, his head shaking from side to side as he whispered something to himself.

"Pussy..." mumbled Ryan under his breath, wondering why they didn't list stupidity on the side label of cigarettes. Marco swung around, nostrils flaring, and shoved Ryan to the floor.

Ryan braced himself before hitting the ground and landed on his butt, and he turned to the side, trying to curl into a ball. The least damage was done that way. He clamped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees, closing his eyes. He definitely did not want to see the big, black boots coming at him.

The funny thing was, they never did. For what seemed like an eternity, Ryan lay on the ground in fetal position, eyes shut tight. Finally, he opened one eye and saw Marco hovering over his face, pity and anger etched in his features.

He gently shook his booted foot at Ryan, who cringed nonetheless.

"Get up." said Marco, his voice deceivingly soft.

Ryan uncurled himself carefully and held himself up on his elbows. He wrapped his hands around his knees and looked up at Marco. The man held his hand out to the shivering boy.

If anyone had asked Ryan if he was shaking from fear or because of the unnaturally cold house, he wouldn't have responded.

Ryan's hand was clammy as it slid into Marco's. It took the man no effort whatsoever to lift Ryan to his feet and let go of his hand. Ryan took a step back and looked at Marco, unsure.

It seemed that he wasn't going to hurt him, but he had been tricked before.

"Hey. I ain't gonna hit you unless I have to." said Marco, dusting his pants off and turning around to sit back down on his couch. Ryan turned around as well, trying to get into his room as quickly as possible, so that Marco wouldn't change his mind. He closed the door delicately, leaning his head against the cool, swirly wood.

He jumped onto the bed and stretched out.

The hard mattress dug into his back. So Marco was one of the good ones. The ones that felt bad after they hurt him. Maybe he'd buy him an ice cream later, like Bret did after he threw Ryan into the wall and knocked him unconscious.

_Hey. I ain't gonna hit you unless I have to._

What was that supposed to mean? What reason could Marco possibly have that forced him to hurt Ryan?

Whatever it was, Ryan hoped he wouldn't have to find out.

-------------------------------------------------------

Sandy picked up his cell phone for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. He dialed Theresa's number, which he now knew by heart, and hesitated.

It was too soon. It was much too soon.

The only sound he was listening to was the running water in the bathroom. Seth had decided against putting a whole bunch of mousse on his dirty hair, and had instead taken a shower, wasting about ten cents worth of mousse which would be washed off in water.

The water stopped.

About a minute passed before Sandy started to worry. A small pit was forming in his stomach, and he could have sworn he heard a window open.

"Seth?" he called out weakly. His voice was crackly, and it pissed him off.

There was a long pause, and Sandy got up, his heart beating quickly inside his chest.

"Yeah?" yelled Seth, the annoyance that Sandy had heard before slightly diminished.

Sandy sighed in relief, deciding against sitting back down.

Seth emerged from the bathroom moments later, dressed in the clothes he had worn the day before. His hair was dripping with water, and he stood at the door for a moment before shaking his head like a dog.

Water hit Sandy in the face, and he didn't care. He closed his eyes and wiped at his now wet forehead. When he opened his eyes again, Seth was ambling towards him, arms out.

Sandy stared at him, confused. Seth's damp arms wrapped themselves around him.

"I'm so sorry, dad." Seth whispered, and suddenly, he was a sad, little boy again, his face drawn with tears because nobody wanted to be his friend.

Sandy patted his son's back, trying to free his arms so that he could return the hug.

"It's ok, Seth."

Seth shook his head slowly from side to side on his father's shoulder.

"I didn't realize how much I'd hurt you..." he said, his voice so quiet that if his face hadn't been so near Sandy's ear, he wouldn't have heard it.

"I know, son. I know." he said, sounding stronger than he felt.

"I'll never do it again." Seth took a flimsy breath. "I promise you, dad. I promise you."

Sandy didn't care to tell him he was repeating himself.

Seth cried quietly for a few minutes before releasing his father from the tight grip he had him in. He seemed to have been in a trance when he had decided to hug his sad looking father. It was supposed to be a pity hug. Something that would make Sandy feel better, not himself. And now he had to go and make it all about himself.

He didn't realize exactly how much his simple act of affection had helped his dad.

-------------------------------------------------------

Kirsten sat on the sofa. She was really starting to go crazy now. She had actually called her father over to keep her company.

Caleb, who had just married Julie Cooper. Caleb, who still didn't know that Ryan was gone.

The knock at the door signified his arrival.

She grabbed the blanket that she had wrapped around her shoulders and shuffled to the door. They had let Rosa off for the week, and she had happily accepted their paid vacation. She hadn't had one in years.

"Kiki!" said Caleb enthusiastically. He let himself into the house.

Kirsten sighed. "Hi, dad."

Caleb turned around to face her. He pointed at her. "What's wrong with you? You got the flu or something?"

Kirsten tried not to roll her eyes. "It's Ryan." she said, forgetting that she had to choose her words carefully around her father when talking about the boy she loved so much.

"What did the damn boy do now?" he asked, irritation filling his voice.

God, he was so different from Sandy. She could imagine his reaction to her words now.

_"Oh god, is he alright? Is he sick? Is it contagious? Is that why you're wearing a blanket around you?"_

"Nothing, dad. He's--" She paused. "He's in Chino."

"Chino?" said his father, as though saying it would make him a lesser person.

"Yes. Chino."

"Why would he go back there?" He sounded a little more interested than before.

"Because--" Why couldn't she say it? Why couldn't she say it was because he thought he knocked up a girl and he thought he was doing the right thing?

Luckily, her father understood.

"It's alright, Kiki." He rested his hand on her knee. "I mean, I suppose it's better that he's not in your lives anymore. That boy was a bad influence."

Or maybe not.

Kirsten stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, come on." Kirsten beckoned him to continue without uttering a word. Caleb sighed. "The boy, Ryan, he comes here, and the very same night, _my_ Seth gets into a fight?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "And then, the model home, and-- oh!" Kirsten moved back a step. He was actually trying to make her see that it was good that Ryan was gone. "Oliver." finished Caleb, looking more than a bit smug.

"That was not his fault." said Kirsten defensively, her patience wearing.

"That juvenile delinquent has no control over his fists." said Caleb, enunciating each word carefully. It was as though he had prepared a speech for this very occasion.

Kirsten wouldn't put it past him.

"Ryan is _not_ a juvenile delinquent!" yelled Kirsten, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"Well don't go into hysterics, Kiki. I'm just stating facts." he said, matching her glare.

"Get out." said Kirsten, sooner than she thought she would have been able to.

Caleb didn't look shocked. "Well, alright, Kiki. If that's what you want." He grabbed his coat from her.

"I was trying to tell you that I was considering handing over the company to you, but if you feel the need to go hysterical on me when I'm just telling the truth, then I can't imagine how you'd deal with the same pressing schedule that I have." He stepped towards the door, leaving an open mouthed Kirsten behind him.

The door closed, and even the sound of his expensive car starting up annoyed her. She suddenly felt like owning an ugly, old car, just to piss her dad off.

Maybe she could find herself another Pinto, like the one Sandy had in college.

------------------------Flashback--------------------

Ryan sat in his room, staring at the ceiling. The summer heat had made his clothes stick to the bed, so he was relaxing, his shirt on the floor beside him. He decided to make good use of the time to start working out.

Although he didn't want to admit it, the comments those girls had made about him had made him self conscious.

He had worn huge T-shirts to school for the next few weeks, trying to make himself look bigger, but it had only served to make him look like a little boy in mens' clothing.

He lay sprawled on the warm carpet, getting his feet under him to start doing push-ups.

_1, 2, 3,..._

Trey was yelling at his mother. Ryan couldn't hear them. He didn't want to hear them, not when he had muscles to build.

_4, 5, 6..._

The neighbors were throwing things. That was a regular occurrence. It didn't matter to Ryan. As long as he had something to concentrate on, he was fine.

_7, 8, 9..._

"Hey, man of steel." said a voice. Ryan fell, shocked by the sudden disturbance.

Theresa was leaning on the windowsill, looking at him.

Warmth rose to Ryan's cheeks. She must have thought he looked like a scrawny five year old.

"You wanna go to the beach?" asked Theresa. She was still looking at him, and it made him uncomfortable.

"Uh, no. I'm grounded." Theresa opened her eyes wide. That was a new one.

"What?"

"I'm grounded. Joseph said a stole some cigarettes. So, I'm grounded." He shrugged.

"You've never been grounded before..." she said, suspicious.

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything." muttered Ryan, shrugging again. He saw Theresa throw her jean clad leg over the windowsill, and he got up off the floor.

"Wh-- what are you doing?"

"I'm climbing into your room, dumbass. What does it look like I'm doing?"

_"Get the fuck, out, Trey! Don't come back!"_

Ryan turned towards the sound of a slamming door.

_"What the hell was that? You don't kick your fucking kid outta your house!"_ Ryan heard Joseph say. Ryan quietly stepped to his door and opened it a notch.

Joseph was stomping out of the house, calling for Trey to come back. Ryan blinked. He heard a slight shake from the ground and spun around. Theresa was already inside his room, running around to the other side of his bed to get his shirt and handing it to him.

"Thanks..." whispered Ryan, still clinging to the door.

His small portal to familiarity.

Ryan let go, reaching for the tank top. Theresa held on to the bottom, noticing a small, black stain on it. She averted her eyes, and Ryan mentally thanked her.

"Let's go somewhere." he said.

"Alright."

-------------------------------------------------------

There was a cool breeze that floated towards the two teens as they walked along the beach. The sun was hidden underneath a veil of clouds, and birds fluttered aimlessly in the air, looking at nothing in particular.

Ryan wore his dirty old sneakers.

Theresa was barefoot.

"Ryan?" she asked, interrupting his train of thought. Not surprisingly, the thoughts were of Trey, Joseph, and his mother.

"Yeah?"

"Do you love your mom?"

Ryan slowed his steps, increasingly interested in Theresa's bare feet and his sneaker clad ones.

They moved in unison.

"'Course I do." Theresa nodded and looked down.

"Why would you ask me that?"

She paused, contemplating her answer. "I-- I was just wondering."

"Ok." Ryan took a deep breath and moved in front of Theresa. "Why would you be wondering?"

"Ryan..."

"Tell me."

Theresa looked into the sea. Waves raced each other to the sand. Little boys kicked water into the air with their parents hovering nearby.

"You have blood on your shirt."

Ryan stiffened in front of her. "What are you talking about?" His voice was monotone, like that of a robot.

Theresa hated it when his voice was like that. He was different when he talked like that. He was and adult, but unlike the adults that surrounded him, the voice sounded responsible, but impure at the same time. Theresa found it hard to explain.

"Blood. There's blood. Right... here--" She grabbed the bottom of his shirt carefully, and her arm pressed against his soft flesh. His heart beat quickened, and he stared at her, his mouth open just a little bit, and his eyes slightly narrowed.

"That's not blood." He almost believed himself.

"Joseph doesn't hit you," said Theresa, moving closer to his face. She was inches away now. Ryan glared at her. "... so who else could it be, Ryan? Trey?" Ryan maintained the fierce connection he had managed to get with her brown eyes.

"Dawn?"

His resolve weakened considerably, leaving him teary eyed and shaky.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, his voice desperate, like a little boy who wanted a toy truck more than anything in the world.

"Nothing. I want you to say absolutely nothing." Her whisper traveled to his ear, tickling it.

They stood in front of each other in silence for a few minutes, and Theresa smiled. "I want a piggy back ride..." she said, her eyes meeting his.

He laughed. "What?"

"Give me a piggy back ride!" she said, jumping on his back. He tried to shimmy her off, but she was persistent.

"Fine!" he said, letting her grab hold of his neck. Her laughter echoed into the sea and came back to them.

Ryan tripped and fell, and Theresa fell next to him. They laughed happily and turned to face each other.

There were a few grains of sand in Theresa's hair, and Ryan reached forward to pick them out. Their lips were close, and Ryan wondered if Theresa would be different than the girl he had sex with at the party.

Not that he intended to have sex with Theresa, but he just wanted to see if she tasted different.

As their lips met, he noticed that she did taste different. She tasted like cinnamon and sugar, and innocence. She was innocent.

Too bad he wasn't.

-------------------------------------------------------

Sorry about the delay (to anyone who cares), I had a bad case of writer's block, so here it is. Hopefully, the next chapter will show up soon. Don't forget to bring a towel! I mean, don't forget to review. And bring a towel.


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